


The Possession Principle

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill's been keeping secrets from Tom, but when he finally discloses the big one, Tom's reaction is nothing like he expected. Angry, sullen, acting out at everyone in their lives, Tom is drawing away when Bill needs him most, and just wants the closeness they had before. With Tom in need of a serious attitude adjustment, this may be the split that drives them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I think I'm gay," Bill announced to the breakfast table at large, and paused. "Well, no...no...I know that I'm gay. I'm just letting you all in on the secret."

"That's amazing, Bill, but have you considered being merry instead?" Georg cracked, barely looking up from his plateful of sausage and eggs. "Might go over better with all those fangirls who think you're their boyfriend."

Bill smacked his open palm over the wood of the table, jostling mugs and making Gustav peer over the edge of his newspaper. "I'm serious!" he cried.

"And also gay," Gustav added, his paper crinkling as he turned a page, appearing completely unfazed from what little Bill could see of him – mostly smooth forehead beneath brush-cut blond hair.

"Yes," Bill said, folding his arms tight over his front and casting round a glare that took in the entire table.

"Did you consult Tom about this?" Georg wondered aloud.

Bill hesitated, glancing toward the one table inhabitant who had remained silent so far. Tom's head was down, the dark bill of his cap keeping his eyes hidden from view as he shoveled cereal in his mouth with precision approaching that of finely tuned German machinery. He had gone tight-lipped ever since Bill had broken the news to him that morning; Bill had barely gotten a shrug out of him.

"My being gay doesn't mean Tom is," he said carefully. He'd rushed to provide statistics to Tom after the revelation, as though spewing facts on the likelihood of Tom's sharing any part of Bill's quirk of orientation would make the news any less shocking.

It had taken Bill nearly nineteen years to figure it out for sure. It had taken him another two to work up the courage to let Tom in on the news. He'd expected to feel relief, finally unburdening himself of something so important to Tom, his other half, but Tom's reaction had been little more than a shrug and a twist of his mouth.

"There's less than a seventy percent chance..." Bill began, gripping the table in white-knuckled hands.

"There's none," Tom interrupted, getting up from his seat and tossing his spoon in the cereal bowl with a clatter. Milk splashed everywhere and Gustav exclaimed with annoyance, folding his paper over to glare at the culprit with his best imitation of laser beam eyes. Tom stood over the table, looking at none of them as he announced, "I am _not_ gay. Like there was any question."

"Tom..." Bill started, lapsing back into his chair. It was useless; Tom was already stalking away from the dining area. Bill fixed his purse-lipped glower of unhappiness on his coffee cup and gripped the handle as though he were about to wield it as a bludgeon rather than drink it to the dregs. He looked over at their other two bandmates; Gustav blinked at him solemnly, offering no comment, and Georg grimaced, dropped his fork, and made a production of picking it up.

There was a bang in the distance. Bill flinched, brought his coffee up fast enough to risk scalding off his foundation with hot beverage, and warmed his palms for a moment before sitting up straight and eyeballing his bandmates.

"He's still getting used to it," Bill offered weakly. He spoke not from a need to excuse Tom's behavior; if Tom wanted to be an ass, he didn't need any apologies for that and had plenty of practice. He was reassuring himself more than anything. Tom had to be all right with this. There was no changing this part of himself to suit them both.

"So...when did you know?" Georg asked, shifting in his chair.

Bill ticked his nails along the ceramic of his coffee cup, the uncomfortable comeback of _when I realized sucking cock was less of a hobby and more of an informal vocation_ resting on the tip of his tongue, but that was far too much information for a straight man, even one as comfortable with his sexuality as Georg. "I don't know, Georg; how long have you known you're straight?" he parried instead. He was too used to deflecting difficult questions not to throw this back, even with his friends.

Georg's eyes bulged. "No shit, you've known since you were a kid?"

Once again Bill found himself censoring the first thought to spring to mind before it could make it past his lips. No one needed to know that his first male crush had been Tom.

Least of all Tom himself.

"No...maybe? I didn't really think about it," Bill said, pushing a floppy black fringe of hair out of his eyes, lifting his head to look at his bandmates when all he wanted to do was duck his head and hide. He fidgeted for a moment, running a thumb over the chipped edges of his manicure. He'd need to have it redone soon. "I was just...me. And it's not like I had a lot of gay role models so I never really thought of it as an option."

"It's not an 'option,'" Gustav spoke up clearly, folding over his newspaper and setting it aside.

Bill's stomach sank like a lead balloon. He'd thought, within his innermost circle at least, he would get acceptance.

"It's how you're born," Gustav continued. He made a small gesture before grasping at his own coffee. "If Tom can't understand that, he's dumber than I thought."

Bill was torn between getting up and hugging Gustav and snapping at him for the slight to his twin. He settled for grimacing weakly and devoting himself to his coffee. The pile of breakfast flakes he'd heaped before him looked dry as dust and his appetite had evaporated with Tom's departure.

"Want me to knuckle some sense into him?" Georg offered, holding up a fist.

Bill gave a startled laugh. "No! No...I'll talk to him." After coffee, he'd decided. Eleven a.m. was too early as it was, without coping with a recalcitrant twin.

"Bill," Georg spoke up, causing Bill to look up from his focus on the black brew. "He'll come around."

Bill swallowed, waving off Georg's kind words. He couldn't deal with it now. "Mm," he responded vaguely.

By long habit, they each cleaned up their own dishes when they were piled in at the close quarters of their Hamburg studio. Bill took one look at the milk-splattered placemat and took Tom's abandoned bowl to the sink for him, stuffing the mat in the laundry chute on his way out. It didn't take much to find Tom; he headed for the nearest twang of a guitar.

For a moment, Bill leaned up against the sturdy frame of the door, letting it prop him up as he struggled to find words. His heart was convulsing in painful squeezes inside his chest; he could feel each beat throb through his temples. He was itching and he felt a trickle of sweat dampening his spine.

Tom didn't look up, only continued to pick at a handful of notes, his head bent low, same as it had been over the breakfast table. Bill had to control the urge to join in, to sing the words that wove through each note to form the fabric of their melody.

"Tom," Bill said, after the song had been done for several of those laboring heartbeats and still there was no sign his twin would lift his head. Was Tom feeling the same pain? They so often shared it. The thought that it might be Tom's, more than his, occurred. It blurred the line from his anxiety into something worse. " _Look at me._ "

Tom's head jerked up. His jaw was set in a stubborn line and his brown eyes sparked defiance. "How long?"

Bill folded his arms tightly enough to pinch his ribs in. He shrugged.

"How long have you kept this from me?" Tom continued, his voice raw. It would sound like anger to anyone else, but Bill sensed the hurt.

"About two years," Bill replied, soft.

Tom set his guitar aside, jarring it harshly enough to make Bill wince. He stood and began to pace with short, choppy strides. "You kept this from me for _two years_? I thought we tell each other everything!"

Bill ducked his head. It was exactly this reaction he'd feared. "I couldn't..."

"Couldn't what?" Tom asked, turning and slashing a hand to one side. "I can't believe this. And you...have you, with anyone..."

Bill's mouth twisted. Of course, Tom would go right to the question he didn't want to answer. "Yes."

Tom stood before him, his face gone dark. "I can't talk to you right now," he uttered. He turned and strode out of the room, each angry stamp of his foot making Bill flinch.

"Of course," Bill said softly to the empty room. They'd always told each other everything. In Tom's case, he had divulged things Bill had never wanted to hear – what it was like to finger a girl, his girlfriend's come face, how many times and how many positions he could manage in a night with a pair of willing girls. Bill had never bothered to separate whether it was his fixation on Tom, or something more fundamental that was the underpinning for his distaste in hearing it.

He'd tried to show the same consideration for Tom, not telling him the intimate details he surely wouldn't want to hear, and instead he'd fucked up.

Bill wanted to bury his head in his hands; he wanted to go back to bed; he wanted to _scream_. Instead, he stood blankly regarding the guitar Tom had tossed aside without even racking. It was evidence of how truly worked up Tom was, setting aside something he treasured with such disregard.

A sleek brunet head poked around the door jamb and Bill sniffed heavily, pulling himself together for an outsider's gaze.

"You all right?" Georg wanted to know. "Hurricane Tom just took the dog for a walk. Or maybe a run; he was moving pretty fast."

"Mm-hmm," Bill responded vaguely, not knowing what else to say. He was still standing in the shattered ruins of his morning.

"Remember, I can..." Georg began, descriptively lifting a fist.

Bill waved him off. "We'll work it out," he promised, though the balled-up misery in his stomach had no such certainty.

"Okay...you know where to find me if you need me," Georg said, giving Bill a last measuring look before he withdrew.

Work it out, Bill had said. As many times as they had blown up at one another over things both big and small, this was more a fundamental fault line than any fight they'd had before. Bill wanted to make things right between them, but in this case, he didn't even know where to begin.

Certainly not by telling Tom "everything."

* * *

"So, who's your type?"

Bill lifted his mussed dark head from where he'd been piling his favorite shoes into boxes. They were moving soon, shipping all their best beloved things to Los Angeles, and storing the rest for the time when they settled on a new home to buy or rent in Germany. Tom had joined him in the closet as Bill finished up his sorting, and it was evidence of their fragile truce that Bill had made no smart remarks on that.

"No," he said in answer to that, compressing his mouth in an irritated twist. "We're not doing this." He couldn't talk about it because he didn't want Tom to know. He'd always thought he'd been so obvious, his love a gaping bullet hole, a shot to the head from which there was no recovery, no cure. He was past the light-headed euphoria such a grievous wound could bestow and now he only wanted to make peace with himself as best he could.

"Adam Lambert?" Tom prompted, aiming his finger at Bill like a gun.

"What?" Bill exclaimed, making a face. "Ew, no. That blurry copy? He's like a Xerox of a Xerox of me, no way. If I want to get off to myself I'll use the mirror, thanks."

Tom said nothing to that for a moment, only stooped to pet Bill's stubby-legged princess where she was sprawled belly up on the carpet. He gave her a scratch until her hind leg windmilled, at which he straightened up, jaw working.

"Bushido?" Tom offered.

Bill's mouth puckered before he could help himself. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "Have you been spending time on fansites again?"

"According to the fansites, you're fucking me, too," Tom said, ducking his head. His arms were corded taut over his front.

Bill cringed. "And we both know that's not happening, so why would you think the other?" he snapped. "God, it's like proximity is enough to fuck someone, for them." He tossed another pair of wedge heels into the box with a clunk. Part of him wondered why Tom had brought that up, as though perversely asking whether he was Bill's type, as well.

It was easy to see where the fans could get the impression. They'd always been so close, the line blurring for them forever. Bill played around with Tom in a way any other reasonable person would call flirtation, and Tom played right back; for the two of them it was simply how they interacted. They touched, they impinged on one another's personal space...they _flirted_ and it had never seemed wrong, only playful and affectionate, another aspect of their exceptionally close bond.

Tom hadn't leaned in to share Bill's space like that for weeks, and Bill was touch-starved now.

"David?" Tom said it like a suggestion, but his lips were compressed.

"Ugh," Bill returned. "He's our manager, you pervert. I think of him like a father."

"Some people are into that," Tom muttered.

"Not me," Bill said decisively. He flushed at the thought of asking Tom whether incest turned _him_ on.

"So, what's your type?" Tom persisted. "You've got to have a type, Bill."

Bill pondered Tom's type; short, dark-haired, curvy, easy.

He lifted his head to look at Tom, dipping one shoulder in a shrug.

"Well, there has to be something," Tom continued, his brows descended to a dangerous slant. "You've gotten laid over the past two years - at least, you said you did. Was it one of the Catens?"

"You do _not_ want to pursue this line of questioning," Bill spat, rising to his feet with knobbly-kneed uncertainty as blood-starved limbs were flooded. "You're such a pig, Tom. And you wondered why I didn't tell you for so long? Ugh. I'm not going to roll over for someone just because they're waving couture in front of me." He stalked out of the closet and brushed roughly past Tom, leaving him staggering against one of the folded-open doors of the walk-in.

"Wait," Tom called out, as Bill snapped his fingers impatiently for his diva dachshund.

Bill whirled, still riding a crest of fury. "Next thing, you'll be suggesting I slept with that dear old Joop, and I will _throw_ something at you, Tom, I swear." He looked around for a lamp or trophy that would have enough heft to emphasize his threat. Tom didn't have the dreads anymore; nothing to cushion the blow.

"Well, he did want to be your twin," Tom said, expressionless.

"Yeah," Bill said, nodding, breathing hard through his nose. "And that position is already taken."

Tom bowed his head. "I want to know this about you," he said, fiddling with the small, shiny brass knob on the closet door. "You haven't told me anything. What is it...I want to know how you _know._ What's your type? What does it do for you? What do you want?"

"I want the non-existent," Bill said, getting up and leaving Tom confused behind him.

* * *

Bill stood at the house's window for a moment longer to see Tom ambling down the front walk. He twitched up one hand to the blinds to hold them aside as he watched Tom's strong back and broad shoulders, outlined rather than disguised in the drape of his oversized hoodie, recede from him in the morning light. It wasn't long before Tom disappeared from the front walk around a hedge. Inside the house it was cold and Bill rubbed at his bare arms, but he knew they were prickling more with excitement than anything else.

With Tom and their pointer gone for a walk, Bill loved the solitude gained in the block of forty-five minutes to an hour that he had to himself, all alone. He turned from the window with a crisp stride, his belly already flipping with excitement as he headed for the stairs.

His two dackels trotted after him, and Bill pointed for the rug beside the hearth. "Go lay down!"

They ignored him, trailing after Bill to the stairs. He looked down at them with a sigh. "Want some treats?"

Moments later, Bill was headed up the stairs again with a third of a box of treats scattered on the kitchen door for the babies to split between themselves. Others might wonder how his dackels got so spoiled, but he had no qualms about bribing them shamelessly to ensure his privacy for moments such as this.

Heart beginning to pound, he raced up the stairs and slammed his door shut. It was absolutely the worst when he left it even a bit cracked and one of the dogs pawed open the door, interrupting Bill mid-pleasure session.

Like all healthy boys, Bill loved to masturbate. Unlike many, however, he had a very particular routine.

His wide, high bedroom looked empty, even bigger than usual with its white walls unadorned and almost all of his things shipped away. His bed was left, and one of his dressers.

Bill hurried over to his laptop, scooping it from the dresser and carrying it to the bed. He got that set up, an application open and ready to go with a single click, and returned to his dresser.

"Hello, lover," Bill murmured, finding the long, knobbly shaft stowed away under what he considered to be his sexy pajamas - a pair of black satin pajama bottoms that never saw any use. Who was he going to show? The men he'd been with, few and far between, had been chosen for their discretion and their unavailability in any long-term prospect. No one could 'claim' him, but no one could be his boyfriend, either.

Sometimes Bill thought masturbation was so much better because there was no one else he had to deal with. No negotiation, no hurt feelings, no coming early and leaving him unsatisfied. No requirement to stay and cuddle, or go another round if he wasn't feeling like it.

Basically, no dealing with someone else.

He had a small collection of toys that a sympathetic Natalie had helped him to acquire. They got frequent use when Tom was doing the dog-walking, and Bill blessed that established habit that gave him the protected time he cherished every day.

The prize of his modest collection was a long, silicone vibrator with a realistic cock-head. Circumcised, which was weird to him, but apparently in the sex toy industry an "uncut" toy was some kind of specialty item.

Bill extracted his toy from its bed of satin and grabbed the lube from further back in the drawer, carrying both to his bed with a prickle of anticipation. His balls were already drawing tight, his cock hardening in his boxer briefs. He laid a towel down on the bed, reached over to his laptop to turn on the video, and began to stroke himself with a firm touch through his briefs.

"Nnnh...ahh!" The breathy noises of sex filled the air, and Bill peeled his boxers down, pushing his hips up.

He coated his first finger with lube, settling on his side and pushing out his ass. He loved to play with himself for hours, to finger himself until he came, and push his vibrator in and keep going until he came again. Unfortunately with Tom gone for only that set period of time, he had only the narrowest window of opportunity. He teased himself with the first slippery finger, relaxed, and brought his hand back to coat two fingers before pushing them both at his taut hole.

With a slither, his body embraced them. Bill bit his lip as he worked his two fingers in and out. He wasn't aiming for anything, only trying to get his body to release its tension, open up. He needed something bigger.

It had taken Bill a long time to come to terms with the fact that he got the most enjoyment, came the hardest, when something shaped like a cock was penetrating him and pumping away. As for what he imagined during the act, well...

Bill paused with two fingers embedded to the knuckle. He pulled them out, deciding that was enough prep, and wiped his hand on the towel, glancing at the porn video on his laptop. The man on the bottom was skinny, almost frail, and had a head of black curls. The man on top had dirty blond hair that fell in his eyes, almost obscuring his face as he thrust and thrust, making the boy moan beneath him. He had a rangy, tall body and tight pectorals, along with a flat stomach defined with lickable abs.

A generous amount of lube was spread over the head of the vibrator and Bill thumbed it on. He shivered and pressed his thighs together, his cock flexing as he regarded the long, hard shaft for a second before guiding it behind his body. Proper use of sex toys always recommended using condoms, but Bill never did. It was harder to really feel the toy for him, or maybe he was imagining it; but it definitely took him longer to come.

The first push always took him by surprise. It was so unyielding, so hard it was almost painful. He groaned, wriggling his ass from side to side in tiny movements as he kept pushing it into his body, alert for any pain or problems. It went in, the head first; he paused, reminded himself to breathe, and guided the buzzing toy all the way inside.

"Oh...OH!" Bill's voice rivaled the actor in the clip. He moaned brokenly and grasped at his neglected cock, beginning to pump as he moved the toy in and out at the best pace. He'd come soon, he knew it. Another huge advantage to masturbation was he could do everything exactly as he liked, and didn't have to worry about getting the other person off when he came.

He paused a moment to thumb the vibration higher and lay there for a bit on his side, pleasure-stricken as the steady waves of the vibrator shuddered through him. His eyes fluttered and he grasped at the base, pushing it in, digging it firmly inside of him. After glancing at the clock, he began to pump the vibrator in and out, simulating the rapid thrusts of a confident, experienced fuck.

"Mmn..." Bill bit his lip, gazing at the porn long enough to fix that lean, rangy body in his mind's eye before looking across the empty room. He projected images of himself and another tall, well-defined body moving behind him and thrust the vibrator in him to that pace until it was a blur of sound and rising pleasure within him.

He squeezed at his cock, his mouth open and panting while he imagined it, getting fucked like this, exactly how he wanted by the one he most desired.

The knock to the door was a sudden fright that shrilled down all his nerve endings, making his balls shrivel and his blood run cold.

"Bill, are you -- oh, shit!" Tom yelped, opening the door, blurting an inquiry he cut short with his own cursing, and banging the door shut as he withdrew.

Bill let go of the vibrator with slack fingers, crumpling forward on his bed and slamming the lid of his laptop shut. The grunting and sighing ceased immediately, but his embarrassment lingered, washing over him in a wave of heat. Bill whined softly, letting go of his cock - still hard, though softening. He was the complete opposite of interested in finishing.

He turned away from his laptop to clean himself up, shutting off his vibrator and getting up from the bed, putting everything back in its place. A queasy squirm had risen up to snuff out all his pleasure, and he wanted to pull up his covers and die of sheer embarrassment. Tom had walked in on him - not just jerking off, as had happened to one or the other of them over the years. He'd walked in on Bill with a vibrator plunged up his ass.

Bill hoped with every ounce of will within him that Tom _hadn't_ seen the porn closely enough to get a look at the man with dark blond hair. The man whose figure could be mistaken for Tom's, so long as one didn't look at his face.

After sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands for long enough that Bill knew waiting any longer would be too awkward, he got up. He broke from the solitude of his room, reaching down with an absent hand to scratch at the dogs' ears for a moment where they were huddled on the floor waiting for him to emerge. With a sigh, Bill decided there was no further point in delaying the inevitable and shuffled down the stairs.

The first level of their home was virtually decimated. There was Tom's laptop, a few boxes that had already been sealed with tape, but the entertainment center had been shipped away in pieces and everything it had held was gone. Tom was standing at the kitchen island fussing with a pot of something on the stove.

"You walked in on me," Bill said, adversarial about it.

Tom's head was ducked over his task; braids parted to either side of his nape, revealing a telltale flush. "Was going to take him for a longer walk but he went early, and I figured I'd run back and see if you wanted..."

"I wanted a little private time," Bill said, folding his arms. Touch had resumed between them, relieving Bill before he'd started to panic, but the easy playfulness they had enjoyed before hadn't returned yet. Bill missed it, while recognizing why Tom might be hesitant to dole it out. It might _mean_ something now, because Tom knew Bill liked guys.

"Yeah, apparently!" Tom replied, turning around too fast and banging his elbow against the counter. "Ahh, shit..."

"You didn't..." Bill hesitated, fiddling with his fingers for lack of rings. "Look, you didn't...see anything?"

"Nothing," Tom replied, looking anywhere but Bill. He was licking his lips in that nervous way of his.

Bill knew his brother probably wanted to end this conversation as soon as possible. He nodded. "Good, then."

Tom's head came up and his eyes were dark and startled, as though Bill had said something wrong...or cut him off in the middle of a thought.

Bill fussed with his hands half clasped together. "I guess I'll go finish packing," he said, and began to back his way out of the kitchen.

Tom nodded again, licking his lips. Where before he couldn't look at Bill, now he didn't seem to be able to look away. "Or, you want to stay? Have some breakfast?"

Bill hesitated on the verge of backing out of the kitchen. "Erm...yeah," he decided, clasping his arms over his front. Tom was right, absolutely. Better to pretend as though it had never happened.

When he settled at the high bar stool beside the kitchen island, though, Tom's eyes lifted and locked on his and Bill was mortified. His twin's eyes were dark, his expression unreadable.

Bill had probably scarred Tom for life, wielding that sparkly purple vibrator in full view of the doorway. Tom would never flirt with him again.

* * *

Another day on tour, another airport, and Bill was crammed in elbow to elbow in the clunky van their management had rented for them, gazing out on the verdant landscape visible beyond the highway that they'd have no time to explore. As usual, all of the exotic locales that they explored, from snowy wastelands to tropical beaches, were as carefully guided as chaperoned tours. If Bill ever set foot on a white beach it would be with a camera at his shoulder, promo purposes of exploration.

The van pulled to a halt at the curb and Bill leaned against Tom with a yawn. He never got restful sleep on the plane because of Tom's constant fidgeting, and of course when they were traveling, they burned low on sleep anyhow.

Tom shoved at him lightly, not enough to hurt but to get him moving. Bill slitted his eyes in displeasure before dissolving into another yawn, restraining the urge to paw sleepily at his own face as he remembered he'd applied makeup hours upon hours ago, and touched it up in the skeevy airplane toilet. He moved for the open door, groggy as though he was fighting against a heavy undertow.

Bill caught his heel on the side of the van as he climbed out. There was an instant of fright as he began to fall through space, a sick burn of terror at the thought of face-planting on concrete rising up to engulf him, before a big shape blocked out the harsh sun that dazzled him even through his glasses. He took in a brief gasp of relief, one hand clutching at a broad shoulder as one of their biggest bodyguards, Michael, caught at his arm to steady him.

"Okay?" Michael murmured, his laser blue eyes concerned.

Bill nodded curtly. He had an acute embarrassment at being caught out over something like that, pratfalls or getting laughed at for something he'd done to himself.

Tom was climbing out of the van behind him, and Bill moved aside to make way. Tom's fingers touched the elbow of his jacket and Bill grimaced over at him; their eyes met in brief, wry understanding.

"Wait, my cases," Bill said peremptorily, as their bodyguards began to move into formation. There was a not quite inaudible sigh from Gustav, while Georg moved off with a smirk to stand beside Marcus.

"You have about twelve cases, Bill," Tom said with a hint of impatience. He tapped his fingers against his thigh and Bill knew his brother was invested in getting upstairs and crashing for whatever time they had before sound check.

"I need these three ones _now_ ," Bill stated, asserting his indisputable authority.

Michael went back for the van and Bill watched him go, looking over the blocky figure of their bodyguard as he stooped to fish around the seats to grab Bill's two wheel-cases and the one shoulder-case.

Tom edged into his field of vision, a dark scowl taking over his entire face like a looming cloud on Bill's horizon.

Bill looked over at him, shaping a question with an arched brow.

"Hold on, I'll get it," Tom spoke up, returning to the curb.

Bill hissed under his breath, tapping a finger at the large watch settled on his knobby wrist. "Tom, Michael's got it."

Tom was glaring at him with such force it made Bill want to stagger, or check behind him for a label executive. "He's our bodyguard, Bill; he guards our body, he doesn't..." There was a pause as Tom's tongue flickered out, his dark eyes darting. "Cart around your baggage."

Bill compressed his lips together. Whatever had gotten up Tom's ass, he was going to demand its surgical removal. He wasn't going to make the mistake of going onstage mad at the other half of his life again.

"It's all right, I don't mind," Michael began, unfolding his enormous body from the confines of the van, one bag dangling from his arm.

Bill's eyes went up and down the breadth of the man. He was enormous; he could stand to carry a few bags and keep them safe as well. He'd done it before, after all.

Tom shouldered the man aside. In his case it was more stepping into Michael's space until the man yielded, given that Michael had about eighty pounds of muscle on Tom.

"No, I've got it; go do your job," Tom said roughly, taking the case from Michael's shoulder and reaching for the others.

Michael shrugged and gave up the task to Tom without comment.

Bill stood tapping his foot, beyond irritation now. What was this, some kind of pissing contest?

Once Tom was duly burdened, they made a straight track from the van to the hotel interior, keeping their eyes forward as girls screamed out fervent greetings in every language, loud enough to deafen what little sense of hearing remained. There would be time later for autographs; they had it blocked into their schedule.

On the upstairs level of the hotel, they passed out keycards and Gustav and Georg split off in the other direction.

"Good luck with that," Georg said amiably.

Bill made a little face, waving him off. It was one thing for Tom to be in a mood; it was another for someone – besides Bill – to call him on it.

Marcus was heading up the hall in their direction, one finger pressed to his earpiece. He nodded at Bill and kept moving, pointing at Michael. "We're up for an afternoon briefing. Rooms are clear, gentlemen."

Bill smiled at that. He'd been so pleased to graduate from 'boys' to 'gentlemen;' he remembered the distinction quite clearly, after their eighteenth birthday.

"All right," Bill said, shuffling the cards in his hand. "Up the hall...I'll take the last room, Tom, and you'll take the one beside mine."

Tom barely glanced up. He began dragging the suitcases down the hall with an ungainly bump-bump.

"Tom," Bill snapped, ready to deal with that incident from downstairs.

"Can we get moving?" Tom interrupted his train of thought. "I need a nap..."

"You need to get some manners; what the hell was that with Michael?"

Tom brought himself to a halt, juggling suitcases until they collided and fumbling for one with a curse. "What? You were the one eyeing him up like a slab of beef. I had to do something to distract from that, I was crawling out of my skin."

"You say that every time I pick out a new red carpet outfit--" Bill started to retort, before his mind caught up to all the nuances of what Tom had said. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me," Tom said, his eyes sparking hot.

"What the fuck, Tom?" Bill hissed between his teeth. "Just exactly what are you accusing?"

"Like you don't know!" Tom exclaimed. He turned, beginning to lumber up the corridor. "Just, if it hasn't happened yet, you might want to keep it in your pants until after tour. In _his_ pants. Ugh."

Bill emitted a sound more closely resembling a squawk than anything else. He was speechless in his indignation.

"Tom... _Tom!_ " he managed at last, putting forth an urgency that caused his brother to stop in his tracks and straighten enough to give him an insolent glare.

"What?" Tom prompted, when Bill remained mired in his tangle of anger and righteous hurt.

"Could you at least give me credit not to go around sleeping with _people that we pay?_ " Bill tossed back at him, tone pointed.

Tom blinked at him.

"Yeah," Bill added, in vehement follow-up to Tom's non-response. He was still seething over Tom thinking that he would; not even getting into the fact that a slab of man who outweighed him by more than half again his own weight and cleared him by several inches would be a candidate for crushing him, rather than someone on whom Bill might crush.

Tom's mouth went slack for an instant before he firmed it up and scowled off to the side. "Well, good," he said, turning around to resume his luggage toting. He said over his shoulder, "That's exactly my point, what I would have said. No fucking around with the help." He put on a smug tone.

Bill's mouth dropped open, but he was _not_ going to bring up Tom's fucking around with American merch girls. He was not; he was better than Tom.

He settled for a rather weak, "You're an asshole," because he wouldn't let himself use the heavy artillery. Talking about Tom's sexual escapades had always made him uncomfortable for reasons he tried not to dwell on.

"Yeah," Tom said, flashing a grin at Bill as he paused in the interminably long hallway. "But I'm the asshole who's carrying your luggage."

For a moment Bill was going to concede the point, before he remembered Tom had insisted, to begin with. "Hey!" he said, tagging up to Tom in a flash of long legs. He could move when he put his mind to it. "It was all your idea, anyhow."

Tom made no answer to that, only shouldered Bill's luggage higher on his shoulder, adjusted his grip on the two wheelies he was toting, and trudged onward.

Bill strode after him, a secret smile tugging at his mouth as he acknowledged the warmth pooling in his belly that let him know he was pleased, above everything, that Tom would still carry his things.

* * *

Another country, another slew of interviews and meet and greets, another notch on their belt of rock star accomplishments, and Bill was no closer to understanding the strange mood Tom had been in lately.

Earlier that evening, Tom had snapped at one of David's male assistants for handing Bill a towel, practically elbowed Gustav in the face to take his place in giving Bill a pre-show backrub, and curled his lip at one of the foreign interviewers when the man had offered Bill his hand along with a thank you. Now Bill was relaxing in his hotel room after scrubbing off his makeup. He tipped his beer back, grimacing at the unfamiliar taste, and considered raiding the mini-bar before going to confront his twin over that day's asshole behavior.

He'd been putting up with it for weeks, and this blow-up had been building for longer. No amount of the physical affection Tom had been piling onto him lately was going to make up for the fact that he needed an attitude adjustment.

Bill took a last swig of beer to brace himself and strode for the connecting door that would let him in on Tom's room. He gave a cursory knock and turned the door knob, stumbling inside without waiting for an answer. Tom hadn't brought a girl up to the hotel room that evening – in fact, hadn't done all tour, which was confusing the hell out of Bill.

Maybe that was why Tom was on his case all the time. Tom needed to get _laid_.

That caused a sick, stressed kind of feeling to flutter in his chest at the very thought.

Before Bill could deal with that, though, he had to process the scene he'd walked in on.

"Shit," Tom said, drawing up his bedsheet over his thighs.

"Oh God," Bill yelped, turning from the sight of his brother sprawled out on half the bed, the white expanse of his shirt ridden up to expose abs that were drawn taut, skin that was glistening, and a familiar puddle of pearly fluid before Tom pulled the sheet higher.

He'd seen his brother's dick. Bill had seen Tom's _dick_ , and it was still hard, red, and shiny with come at the tip. Bill grabbed the door frame for moral support.

"Hey," Tom said.

"I saw everything," Bill blurted.

Tom laughed, the sound low and easy. "What's up?"

"Uhh...you were?" Bill said, in his best 'you're the idiot' tone.

"Yeah, well...I'm done, so...not anymore." Tom sounded so relaxed, a complete contrast to his earlier snappishness.

"So um, now we're even?" Bill ventured. When he could bring himself to look back across the bedroom, Tom had tucked the sheet up over his waist and he had one arm folded behind his head. His eyes were wide and dark and his tongue was moving over his bottom lip.

Bill wobbled in the doorway; his knees were going out. A sick, odd sensation was bubbling up in his belly, replacing the horrid stressed feeling of before.

"Even for what?" Tom was asking, and Bill tried to focus on the question. His stomach was performing anxious, needy flips. It had been a while since he'd been seized with the desire to go run off and masturbate immediately, and now it was so strong it bordered compulsion.

"You walked in on me; I walked in on you?" Bill said, rocking his hand back and forth.

Tom chuckled. "You came to talk about something? Want to come in?"

"Tom," Bill said, complaining. "You just _jerked off_ in here." He waved a hand in front of his face expressively.

"That a problem?" Tom questioned, arching his brow. "I'm already done, so..."

Bill stood there staring for a moment, his belly so tight and needy he didn't know what to do. His whole skin was prickling, and when he looked down, he could see hairs rising on his arm. The moment was super-charged as he stared at Tom and wondered if his twin even knew what he seemed to be implying, offering him that kind of closeness when the air was still charged with arousal. He'd wanted this, and now he wasn't sure he was prepared to handle it.

"I can't," Bill stated. He pulled the door shut, his heart racing. His dick was already half hard, far too interested in what had been going on in Tom's bed only moments before.

His hand hesitated over the lock for a moment. He was tempted to flip it and go do exactly what Tom had done – pull his dick, arch his back, think of Tom's hand moving rapidly over his hard, ready flesh until he came, biting back obscenities and his twin's name on his lips.

Okay, not _exactly_ what Tom had done. Surely some pretty curvy-hipped brunette had featured in Tom's fantasies. Short and stacked, the way he liked them. The last one had had stubby hands, and Bill had severely disapproved. She hadn't lasted more than a month, so Bill had been glad he'd kept his mouth shut.

The door opened and Bill had to take a hasty step back before he was hit in the face with it.

"Hey," Tom said, looming on his threshold in his white shirt with a sheet wrapped around his hips and the near certainty of nothing else.

Bill's eyes went startled-wide and he licked his lips. "What do you want?" he demanded, making his question unnecessarily harsh to keep a lid on the array of inappropriate responses that were rising up within him. He wanted to reach out and paw the sheet from Tom's waist. He especially wanted to lean in and kiss Tom's lips, see if they were soft as well as chapped, run his tongue over Tom's full bottom lip and find out if he'd open to Bill's kiss or run away and sulk again.

Tom wasn't gay, Bill had to remind himself. It was absurdity to think he'd go gay for Bill, his own brother.

"You okay?" Tom said.

Bill huffed softly. Of course it was something so mundane as that. "I need a shower," he said, shaking his head at Tom and taking another step. It wasn't even a lie, so long as one took into account that 'shower' was a euphemism for 'go masturbate until I come all over the tiles trying not to scream your name.'

Tom nodded, his expression softening. "It's been a long day," he said.

"They're all long," Bill replied, shrugging.

Tom reached up to touch the side of his face, skimming past his cheekbone and tweaking a lock of Bill's wilting hairdo. "If you don't want to be alone, you know where to find me."

"Yeah," Bill said, and pouted over at him. "In that room where you just jerked off."

Tom laughed at him. "It doesn't smell bad, I promise. I'll open a window; whatever."

_It doesn't,_ Bill couldn't agree. _Because it smells like you._

"Maybe later," Bill said instead, turning his back on Tom to return to the dubious safety of his own room. "Shower now."

Hot or cold, he hadn't decided. Whatever had the best chance of beating back his raging desire to lick every part of Tom; to take him up on his offer, join him in the bed that smelled of Tom's arousal, and see if he couldn't provoke it again.

Bill was gay, but he wasn't going to drag Tom down with him.

* * *

"You've been texting with Andreas a lot," Tom observed, plunking down beside Bill and taking the phone right out of his hands.

Bill released a high-pitched cry of indignation, slapping at Tom's hands, but Tom only laughed at him and transferred the phone from one hand to the other, holding it out of his reach. Bill scrabbled at his brother's nearest arm, pinching and scratching as he tried to make it too costly for Tom to hold onto his phone.

"Hey, watch it, dragon claws," Tom remarked with a wince. "I'm not exactly insured by Lloyd's of London, you know. What if you do serious damage and I can't play?"

"Oh, please," Bill said, giving his twin an expressive eyeroll. "You big baby. I've been abusing you since we were babies..."

"Who abuses who?" Tom said with a laugh, holding his phone out of reach yet again as Bill made a grab for it. "What are you doing all the time, sending love letters?"

"Mind your own business," Bill snapped, and nearly choked on his own spit when he realized what Tom had said. "What the...what's this sudden interest in my love life? And no. Why would I be sending love letters to Andreas? Don't be stupid. _Stupider._ "

"You're always hunched in the corner every free minute you've got, your thumbs twiddling away," Tom said, bringing in the phone to read off the screen. It was right where Bill had left it, composing a text. "And it seems like every time I talk to Andi, he's saying something about you."

"He's my _best friend_ ," Bill said, annoyed. He reached out and gave Tom's nearest nipple a brutal tweak.

Tom cried out and dropped the phone, covering his chest defensively.

Bill acted fast, hitching himself up and reaching over to scoop his phone off Tom's leg and stuff it in his side pocket. He failed to stow the phone, given how tight his jean pockets were, so he trapped it under his thigh again.

"What?" he said, irked when Tom continued to sit there giving him woobie eyes, hands clasped to his pectorals. "You started the dance, don't be so surprised if I finish it."

Tom snorted. "I ought to make you kiss it better."

As Bill stared mindlessly away from Tom, directing his gaze to the kitchenette area across the way, his cheeks took on a hot pink to match the accents in his shirt. Tom continued as though he hadn't made an outlandish statement. It was awkward for Bill, remembering how they'd been, easy and joking with one another to the point where anyone else would say it was flirting, and yet neither of them had backed off.

Tom was backing off, now.

"What's going on with Andi, then? He's my best friend too, you know."

"Mm," Bill murmured, his mind assailed with a sudden vision of licking over one brown nipple until it crinkled, dragging his tongue stud over and around it, and closing his lips over that stiff little bit of flesh until Tom's breath was ragged in his chest.

Bill had never had fantasies so vivid until he had experience with a real, male body from which to build a basis of comparison.

"Bill, yoohoo," Tom said, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

Bill licked his lips and shifted on the couch, grabbing for the nearest pillow to place across his lap. He glared over at Tom, reminding himself that he was pissed at his twin. "I need a reason to text Andi, now?"

"It's just...you're _always_ texting him," Tom said, his face carefully expressionless.

Bill stared at him. He recognized the stoic look on Tom's face, now. He'd seen it before when they were teenagers, and again when they were in their late teens and Bill was inviting Andreas to whatever European event he could make it for. Tom was _jealous._

"We only see him one or two months out of the year when we're touring," Bill said, shifting toward instead of away from Tom this time. He laid a hand on Tom's knee. "Now we're moving all the way to L.A. and he thinks he's going to be replaced, you know? Plus I don't know if he's told you about Gina..."

Tom's fingers covered his own, warm and strong, their calloused tips rasping against Bill's softer skin.

"Oh yeah, you're always better at getting him through stuff like that," Tom said, dismissive. "Bad break-up?"

"Yeah," Bill said, trying not to melt into the embrace of the couch and the thought that he could have this, settling down with their hands laced together. He could rest his head on Tom's shoulder and never get up.

"So long as he doesn't have his eyes on my little brother for a rebound," Tom said, making Bill jerk his hand from under Tom's with a hiss and a glare.

"You," Bill informed his twin, "have been trolling fanboards again. I'm not having a covert relationship with Andreas, and he is not gay!" He stood, wobbling as the bus swayed, and stalked with all the dignity he could muster for the rear of the bus and his individual bedroom compartment.

Behind him, Bill heard a murmur that sounded like 'neither am I, but if I had to make an exception...' but he knew he was mistaken.

Tom liked girls. He loved breasts and hips and asses and long, dark hair. That was the immutable truth, and anything else was Bill's wishful projections.

Bill decided it wasn't only Tom who needed to get laid, now.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom had been shadowing Bill's every step for months now, and Bill proved unable to get laid – though not for lack of trying. It seemed as though every decision, every meeting with international movers and management and fashion planners and even gaming night with Gustav and Georg, required Bill's presence even if it was a subject on which he knew nothing and cared even less. He was constantly by Tom's side – at Tom's request – and every time he tried to make plans for himself he found that Tom had set something up for the two of them.

As they got closer to the planned move, Bill had to admit most of it _did_ require his presence as well as Tom's. They co-owned everything, from property to general finances. Plus, Bill as much as Tom always had to have things done just so. The prospect of Tom planning the pre-move renovations, décor and all, without him was enough to make Bill twitch.

Now after months, every box had been unloaded, every crate arrived safely, and all of Tom's guitars had been handled with the care required. They had moved the most important parts of their lives and in obedience to their compulsive need for order, had unpacked everything and found a place for it all.

"That's the last," Bill said, exhausted as he stumbled against the couch. It clipped him behind the knees and he allowed himself to fall backward in a dramatic sprawl, ending up half draped over Tom's lap where his twin had plunked himself down. "No more boxes."

"Until we get to the breaking down of boxes," Tom promised, a hand going to Bill's brow and stroking past one buzzed temple before moving up, carding through the main mass of his hair.

"No," Bill moaned, feeble. He closed his eyes with the pleasure of it as Tom's fingers worked through his hair. He could lay like this for an hour or more with only this much, Tom's touch lulling him into complacency. "No boxes. Hire someone else."

"No one else knows we live here," Tom said, and laughed. "Not yet. It's awesome."

"No one outside our front gate, no cameras trained on our windows," Bill agreed, letting out a happy sigh. "It's glorious."

"I like this," Tom said, quiet. His hand continued to comb through Bill's hair, teasing strands apart and smoothing it all back together.

"Mm," Bill agreed. He'd be content to lie in Tom's arms all night. "I missed this, you not being an asshole."

Tom's hand retracted from Bill's hair, pulling a few strands and making him wince. Bill had a sensitive scalp, yet another reason that he took his own stylist with him everywhere. He yelped a quiet protest, beginning to sit up.

"Yeah, well I miss not wondering who's boning you," Tom said, his tone bringing unexpected frost.

Bill got up onto his elbows, swinging his torso around and huddling on his own island of cushion on the couch. "What the hell is your problem, Tom?" he snapped, bringing immediate hostility to bear. With Tom's extensive track record, he certainly had no room to talk. "I've never given you shit about girls..."

"Oh, that is a _lie_ ," Tom said, rolling his eyes at once.

Bill drew himself up to his greatest height. "How dare you," he hissed, switching from self-righteousness to attack mode in seconds. "You don't get to make any of my personal life choices, Tom. You set the standard for that a long time ago. Much as what we do affects each other, there are things I can't change – and won't compromise."

"What...what are you talking about?" Tom sputtered, pulling a wide-eyed look at him.

"I'm gay," Bill said pointedly. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you first – wait, no I'm not – but the fact stands. You're the first one I told, and yet you're the only one who seems to have a problem with it."

"I don't care about that!" Tom exclaimed. "I never did...I wondered...I kind of figured...but you never _said_. Then I find out you've been keeping it from me for two years..." His face clouded.

Bill drew back as far as the couch would allow him. The arm was unyielding against his back and there was no place left to go, and yet he wasn't willing to retreat from the field. "So it's still about this? Not telling you?"

Tom licked at his lips, lacing his fine-boned hands over one raised knee. "I never thought we'd get to that point. Not telling each other everything."

"Even the things you obviously don't want to hear?" Bill said softly, and held his breath.

"What part of you wouldn't I want to hear about?" Tom exploded, gesturing angrily.

"Oh, I don't know, Tom, _sleeping with men?_ " Bill returned, pointed. He got up from the couch, shaking his head. "I can't do this, I can't fight with you like this right now, not on our first night in our new home. I'm going out."

"You started this fight--" Tom began.

"And I'm finishing it! I'll see you later," Bill stated, heading for his keys and his coat. He thought about taking his little princess for good measure, but she had a tendency to piddle in the car and his temper was short enough already. "Hopefully _you'll_ be in a better mood when I get back."

"You're the one who thinks I have the problem!" Tom yelled at him from across the room. "What did I _do_ , Bill? Out of nowhere you accuse me of being an asshole, how do you think I'm going to react?"

"Maybe you ought to think twice about how you've been acting since you found out I'm gay, and ask yourself why I'd say that," Bill suggested.

"How am I supposed to act when you kept that big of a secret for two years?" Tom bellowed, and made a move as though he'd get up from the couch in pursuit of Bill. "Two years, Bill, and then you spring it on me and all I can think is you've had sex, you never told me, you _still_ won't tell me anything, I'm just supposed to guess--"

Bill gave him a scornful look, grabbing up his cigarettes and sliding his mid-sized black bag onto his shoulder. "You ruined our first evening in our new home, and thanks for that." He was cut up, beneath his withering demeanor. He was still hurt Tom was apparently so deep in denial, he wouldn't even admit to how he'd been treating Bill. Rather...everyone around Bill.

Tom opened his mouth again, but Bill was done. He stormed out of the front door, spent a moment huddled behind the wheel, and took his time driving through the West Hollywood neighborhood, memorizing each turn.

All he'd wanted was a good night, and Tom was doing what they'd both sworn never to do – he was making Bill feel bad for who he was. The fact that it was other people at whom the behavior was directed didn't make it any less painful.

* * *

"I hope everything is to your tastes," David was saying as they sat down to the magnificent spread, snowy white linen and crisp red serviettes; a table lined up with silver-domed dishes to keep the heat in. "Finding a German chef who will do delicious vegetarian dishes is harder than you'd think, even in Hollywood."

"I'm sure it will be wonderful," Bill replied with a wide smile. He was absolutely tickled they were attending a dinner party so soon after moving to Los Angeles, even if it was a dinner party of three, and someone with whom they'd had dinner many times.

At any other time, spending an uninterrupted interval with Tom was a relief and recharging period for both of them.

When they were winding each other up and making one another miserable, however, it only strung out for days until one of them made the first gesture. This time, Bill was righteous in his anger and Tom's solution appeared to be avoiding him. Getting out of the house for David's dinner party was a welcome relief.

"Yeah, I can't wait to have real cooking, the only thing Bill is good for is heating up pizza," Tom said, rubbing his hands together as his eyes moved over the array of covered platters.

Bill bit back an angry retort, _I'm not your wife, Tom_ , and lifted his chin, focusing on David with a gracious smile.

"I did tell him that you're fond of pasta dishes, not so fond of vegetables," David said, lifting off the nearest silver dome and setting it behind him on a sidecar. "And you're still both eating fish? Right?"

"Haven't given up seafood," Bill assured him, though he'd been stricken with doubt after Tom had showed him an article on the latest trend of tattooing hapless fish with florid designs.

"Good, we've got a seared scallop dish over baked linguine..." David gushed, and began going over all of the dishes as he lifted silver domes, releasing puffs of steam and savory scent with each one. "And here's a Tofurkey, Bill, have you tried this before?"

"No, I never have!" Bill exclaimed, leaning over to peer with interest at the breaded mass lying on one of the platters nearest to David.

"I tried some myself, it's really not that bad...rather like wienerschnitzel though without the guilt, for you," David said with a laugh.

"Eh, we'll see about that," Tom said.

Bill's mouth pulled down as he gazed across the table at his twin. If Tom was going to start being a dick to David, he didn't know what he was going to do. He was too far across from Bill for a well-placed kick.

"Would you like to try some?" David offered, holding up a carving knife.

Bill smiled and nodded. He transferred his attention from David to his twin, attempting to transmit through the atoms that separated them exactly how pissed he'd be if Tom went and ruined their first adult night out in their new home.

"What about you, Tom?" David inquired after deftly setting a slice on Bill's plate.

"None for me," Tom replied.

The tone made Bill's eyes flick up, and their gazes locked. Tom was expressionless, but his cheekbones were painted with a smudge of high color. He was upset about something, but damned if Bill knew _what_. It was making Bill want to scream and throw things; he and Tom had been talking past one another for weeks. Maybe months.

Ever since those fatal words had fallen from his lips, _so I think I'm gay._

_What_ , Bill mouthed across the table at his twin, and Tom shook his head, reaching for the nearest platter and spooning a heap of its contents onto his plate. It was testament to Tom's distraction; he was piling vegetables onto his plate, unidentified vegetables at that, and when he figured it out, he was probably going to turn that part of his plate as far from him as possible.

"So, tell me again about the plan for American exposure...?" Bill said, plucking the conversational topic from thin air. He, at least, would make an attempt to make their evening a pleasant one.

"We're going to have to attack from a lot of different angles," David said, his expressive hands shaping gestures on air. "Of course, we're going to need to work on putting all new street teams together, or reviving what was here last time, if we can...Tom, did you want some casserole?"

"I don't want anything from you," Tom snapped, keeping his head down and drumming his fingers over the surface of the table.

"Tom!" Bill snapped, grabbing up his napkin. A wild thought entered his head; he could throw the napkin at Tom, for lack of anything more lethal. Even a frying pan wouldn't get through that thick, stubborn skull.

"Let him speak," David said, setting his silverware aside with a clank. "If you've got some issue with me, Tom, I'd like to hear it."

A horrible, gut-wrenching sensation took up residence in Bill's midsection. He was numb from the hollow core of him outward, dreadfully certain he wasn't going to like whatever came from Tom's mouth next.

"Yeah," Tom said, tossing his own napkin onto his plate. "I have an issue, David. You _knew_ , didn't you."

Sickness joined the absolute paralysis riveting Bill in place. He hadn't yet touched a bite to his lips, but he was mortally sure he was going to throw up his entire digestive tract onto the table if David answered that question. This was the worst possible scenario.

"Knew what, Tom?" David asked, his tone the right mix of artless puzzlement and concern.

"You knew about Bill!" Tom said, startling everyone with a fist brought down gracelessly on the table. "You _had_ to have known. I kept trying to figure out how he could have sneaked around, how he could have managed to...to _be_ with someone without anyone on our management team knowing, and the answer is, he couldn't."

Bill jumped when Tom's fist crashed down, but he remained frozen, staring in horror at Tom. How could he do this? What demon had wormed its way inside Tom's brain to make him act like this, hurt Bill by hauling this dirty laundry out in the middle of their dinner with David?

"Oh," David said quietly.

Tom chuckled, the sound low and bitter. "So you did know." He got up, shoving his chair back so hard that it tipped over and banged to the floor.

"Tom," Bill said urgently. " _Don't._ "

"Don't what? Don't make this a big deal? You told _David_ , Bill. Yet for some reason, you thought you couldn't tell me," Tom said. He towered above the dinner table, anger giving him the impression of having swelled to even bigger proportions. His fists were clenched as though he wanted to take a swing at someone. "Hell, was it David?"

"No!" Bill exclaimed, jerking out of his paralysis, swinging his head up to glare at Tom.

"Absolutely not," David said at the same time, his tone gone cold, no longer conciliatory.

"I already told you, I never – I _wouldn't_ \--" Bill began.

"And you've shown me how trustworthy you are, telling me everything," Tom interrupted. He backed away from the table, his expression dark.

"Tom," Bill said, rising from the table. He wobbled and had to hold himself up; he was still reeling from the attack. "You don't want to do this right now..."

"You're right," Tom said, cutting him off again. "I don't. Goodnight, David, sorry to disturb you. I'm sure you can drive Bill home, you're very good at taking care of his needs."

He turned and stalked out while Bill groped for a good comeback. "Asshole!" Bill shrilled at last. "Maybe it's this reaction I was afraid of, Tom; did you think of that?"

There was no response, and Bill sagged back down into his chair, staring at the laden platters of food as he struggled to process how it had come to this, his evening lying in ruins.

David moved for the far side of the table, righting Tom's chair and placing his hands across the back of it. "He'll come around," he said with a grimace. "I've seen you two fight before..."

_Not like this,_ Bill was too miserable to say aloud. Instead, he summoned up a weak smile, thinking back on a similar reassurance. "Maybe I should have taken Georg up on his offer."

David's brows formed quizzical peaks.

"He implied he could beat some sense into Tom," Bill said with a half shrug.

David forced a chuckle. "If he could, I'm sure he would have tried long ago," he replied. "Come. Let's try the dinner, at least. There's all of this food..."

Bill shook his head, placing his napkin beside his plate with a sigh. "I'd better go home," he replied. "I can't let him wallow too long, you know? He gets even worse." He had tried to have the 'win' this time, waiting Tom out, expecting him to come to Bill and apologize, and this was how it had turned out.

David gave him a sympathetic look. "You're not married to him, you know, Bill. You can spend some time apart. Stay here as long as you need to."

"We're not married," Bill agreed dully. "I'll go get my coat."

It was far more inextricable and complicated than that.

* * *

"Tom," Bill called out from the foyer, his voice echoing off the high-ceilinged spaces as his heels clacked over tile. He was swarmed over with three dogs at the entryway, which gave him a brief stab of doubt. He and David hadn't lingered long after the blow-up over dinner, but had it given Tom the time to leash their pointer and take him for a jog?

He stood in place for a moment, one hand dangled low enough for Scotty to push his cold, wet nose against Bill's palm. Bill closed his eyes and let out a breath, paying attention to the feeling within him. The house wasn't empty; Tom wasn't gone.

The dogs padded around him like a furry entourage as Bill discarded his boots by the closest couch, bracing himself against the back while he took off one, then the other. He was tired of fighting, tired of adjusting to a new continent, tired under the burden of everything unsaid between them.

_So,_ a nagging little voice whispered inside of him. _Are you going to tell him everything?_

Bill grimaced and walked through the house, skirting around open, empty boxes that were still scattered here and there. He checked the guitar room first, and found Tom sitting on the low couch in there, bent over a lapful of pointer.

Tom didn't look up, only continued to stroke silken ears, murmuring some low nonsense.

Bill folded his arms tightly over his chest. "What bothers you the most?" he asked in quiet tones. "Is it something I'm doing? Something other people are doing? Is it just...knowing? What is your deal, Tom?"

"I can't stand it," Tom replied at once, low-voiced.

Bill's stomach started up a sick burn.

"Can't stand what?" Bill said, trying to keep his tone light. "My face? It's the only one I've got – and yours is the same, you know."

Tom looked up at last, his eyes intense, the same spots of color high on his cheek that Bill had noted earlier in their disastrous evening. "I can't stand thinking about anyone else having sex with you," he said at last, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "No matter how much I imagined it, finding out it's true is so much worse. I can't even _look_ at another man without wondering what you think about him, if you'd let him fuck you, if _that's_ what you want..."

"Anyone...else?" Bill said weakly, as Tom trailed off and appeared to run out of steam, anger flowing out of him like water poured from a kettle.

"Huh?" Tom glanced up, giving their pointer a final pat before shoving him off the couch. With a grumbling whine, the dog went, his tail wagging like a doleful flag behind him.

"You said you couldn't stand...anyone _else_ having sex with me," Bill emphasized carefully. He wanted to stoop down, put himself on eye level with Tom. He needed to really understand, because the miserable vibes pouring off Tom were confusing him.

Or perhaps Bill was the one who had been confused all along.

Tom licked his lips and his eyes slid away to the corner. "I...I, no, that's not...I didn't..."

"Anyone other than who, Tom?" Bill prompted, a wild, frantic hope replacing the desperate sickness that had inhabited his guts for far too long.

Tom's eyes fluttered. "I can't..." He got up and flailed an arm out, trying to push past Bill.

Bill fell into step with him like the moves of a dance, pressing in close and grabbing at Tom's arm. He couldn't stand not knowing, any longer. Not if there was a chance, after all.

"Does it bother you, knowing someone's had me?" Bill said, in a sudden burst of inspiration. He stepped into Tom's personal space and wove his fingers into Tom's shirt, clutching as though he intended to fuse his flesh into the fabric.

"Yes!" Tom growled, his face frightening and startled from close range. "Yes, it bothers me."

"Why, Tom?" Bill asked outright. "Why does it bother you? Why should it matter?"

" _They_ can't have you!" Tom snarled, fanning hot breath in his face. "You're mine."

Bill's insides swirled at that possessive declaration; the coldness, the sick feeling was gone, and it was replaced with a spill of pleased warmth that fanned clear through him, heating him up from groin to collarbones.

"You want me...that way?" he said, testing to confirm.

Tom's eyes widened as though he'd finally realized what he had said; the line he had crossed. He tried to pull away and Bill held his grip for a moment, long enough for Tom to bring his weight to bear as leverage. Bill let him go, at that point, and watched Tom stumble back a few steps.

Bill turned his back on Tom and strode for the door, fast. There was a low wounded noise behind him; he wanted to close his eyes and turn back, but forced himself to keep moving. He shooed the dogs out the door, shut it, and tested the panel to make sure it wasn't going to come open by accident. With a nod of satisfaction, he turned and set his back to the door, giving Tom a thorough appraisal as heat swept up from his middle, making him feverish and anxious for what he wanted to do next.

"What's going on?" Tom questioned, his fingers twiddling near his low-hanging pockets.

Bill bit his lip as he looked from the hem of Tom's shirt to the bottoms of his scuffed jeans. "Sit," he commanded, pointing to the couch.

"Uhh..." Tom appeared stalled for anything other than monosyllabic grunts.

"Now," Bill added as an afterthought.

Tom blinked. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Without comment or complaint, he turned and shuffled for the couch.

Bill licked his lips and followed. He'd been given license to enact one of his deepest fantasies – he wasn't going to let this opportunity slip by. He loomed over Tom an instant, breath quickening in his own chest as he watched the rapid rise and fall of Tom's breastbone, the nervous bob of his Adam's apple, the flick of his dark eyes as they moved from one part of Bill to another, unable to settle on anything as 'safe.' Taking pity on him, Bill began to sink to his knees, bracing himself on the legs Tom had settled into his typical widespread stance.

"Bill, what--" Tom began, as Bill reached a manicured hand for his zipper, pushing up Tom's shirt first with impatience to get there.

"Shh," Bill responded. He was glad his hair was gelled back in a low pompadour that evening. It would stay out of his face. He drew Tom's zipper down with a confident hand, wanting to look up at the quick intake of breath that accompanied it, almost not brave enough to risk it. What he was doing now was so dangerous; everything they were together could fall apart if Bill pushed this.

He did look up, though, and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, startled by the intensity gazing back down at him. Tom was barely breathing, his chin tucked low as he kept his eyes fixed on Bill, but the pulse in his throat was thrumming like hummingbird wings.

"I want this," Bill said. His voice scraped out in a whisper; he was focused on the now, on the moment, as intensely as his twin. At least, he hoped Tom was anticipating it.

Tom didn't move and Bill gave a tiny nod, breaking eye contact to slip his hand into the gap of Tom's jeans. What he found within could have made him sob out a relieved gasp; Tom was _hard_ , or at least getting there, and Bill shaped his hand around it, stroking Tom through his boxers.

A low groan shuddered through the air. Tom's legs fell apart a little more as he settled more deeply into the couch. The movement flexed his boxer-shrouded cock in Bill's hand.

Bill sucked on his lower lip, hungry for it. He'd seen it before already, of course – hard, even – but now he needed it. He was ready for his prize.

He unbuckled Tom's low-hung jeans carefully, as though Tom would bolt like a skittish colt. Licking his lips again, Bill got a hand on the top edge of Tom's boxers and peeled them down, exposing the hardening cock within its half-hood of foreskin.

Bill hummed happily and leaned up on his haunches, bracing himself over Tom's lap. He hung an arm over Tom's thigh and Tom flinched, as though _that_ contact was too much when they were already arrayed so intimately. Bill kept stroking his cock, easing the foreskin up and down and licking his lips again; his mouth was pooling with saliva.

Tom made a soft sound and Bill recognized it, though he'd never heard that particular noise from Tom before. He slanted a playful look upward. A hand job was good, but blow jobs were better. Tom wanted Bill's lips on his dick, no matter what morals or common reason would argue.

The dilated-dark eyes above him weren't telling Bill to stop. They were urging him on.

Bill dipped his head and twisted his hand around the head of Tom's cock in a sort of half-circle motion, pulling all of the foreskin down. He admired it for a moment, the heat and weight of it in his palm, fixing every detail in his mind before enclosing it between his lips.

Another soft sound came from Tom above him, this one sounding strangled, more restrained, and Bill inhaled the scent as he began to bob downward, taking on as much cock as he could with his first go. The head hit the back of his throat in his haste and Bill drew back, licking up the underside as he kept the shaft between his folded-in lips.

Sympathetic pleasure was coursing through Bill's body like electric shock, like living energy. He sucked down Tom's cock with enthusiasm, pulling out every trick he knew. He lapped at the underside of the head, drawing back to give short, teasing licks and opening his mouth and simply _breathing_ on the shiny, red head.

"Fuck," Tom breathed above him.

Bill grinned, tonguing around but deliberately not returning to suction and pressure. He applied the bead of his tongue stud to the sensitive underside of the head, making Tom groan. Delighted at the spurt of pre-come from the tip, he began to kiss over that, laving at the slit as though to coax more out.

"Mmmn," Bill moaned, pressing against the couch as he licked at the head of Tom's cock.

With another groan, Tom was moving one of his hands at last, which had been immobile and clenched to one side up until now. His hand slid into Bill's hair, thumb caressing over his cheekbone before his fingers combed through the gelled-back strands.

"Yes," the word left Tom, so quiet it might have been unconscious.

Bill made a sweetly pleasured noise as Tom guided his head with a firm touch, popping his cock back into Bill's mouth, blunt head pressing against Bill's hard palate. Hastily Bill tucked his lips over his teeth, humming around the flesh filling his mouth as Tom pushed in.

He wanted Tom to fuck his mouth; it was a fantasy of his, maybe weird, but the word really had no meaning for him anymore. The guiding pressure of Tom's hand backed off after Bill began sucking cock again, though, so Bill devoted himself to the task. He slurped his way up and down, dragging the thrill of his tongue stud up the underside, glancing up through half-veiled eyes to check Tom for reactions every so often.

Tom's head was low, his chin sunk so deep it was nearly on his chest, but his eyes were closed. He might have been asleep if not for the occasional flex of his fingers through Bill's hair, an appreciative rasp of his fingertips, the lightest of touches.

Bill began to really work it, moving his hand rapidly to close the distance between his mouth and the base of Tom's shaft. He sucked at Tom's cock hungrily, his own eyes drifting near-closed as he concentrated on the taste of it in his mouth, the texture differences between the silky feel of it at the tip to the more veiny contrast below, and the little ripples beneath the head that he enjoyed playing his tongue over. He dug his tongue stud in there, vibrating it rapidly and savoring the moan it pulled from Tom.

At that point, Tom half sat up, his hand tugging Bill's hair at the back of his head. His other hand came into play, grabbing at the base of his cock and guiding it out of Bill's mouth in a slow but inexorable move.

"Nnn..." Bill protested as the spit-slicked cock was pulled from between his lips. He wanted more, so much more; he'd barely started. He attempted to follow the head of it with his mouth, pursuing it, wanting to suck the strongest taste right out of Tom and roll it around on his tongue.

"I'm...nnnh!" Tom exclaimed, his face screwing up in a distressed expression.

As Bill looked up at him, a hot splash of fluid jetted onto his cheek. He reached down to clasp his hand over Tom's, his own cock leaping where it was pressed against the front of his jeans as Tom's come landed on his face, drips of it falling across his open mouth. He couldn't help but loose an excited, low moan, licking at his upper lip where come was sliding down to anoint his bottom lip, too.

Tom stared down at him, his breath slowing down from excited panting, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark.

Bill reached up to wipe a glob of come from his cheek with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth. He kept his eyes locked with Tom's as he slid his entire thumb into his mouth, licking off every trace of this most vital taste of Tom.

"Shit," Tom said, his voice starved and hoarse as he looked down at Bill.

Bill inhaled the heady aftermath of Tom's sex and sat back on his heels a bit, stroking his fingers over Tom's. His twin was trembling now.

"Shit," Tom said again. He groaned and in a flurry of limbs he was up off the couch, pushing Bill away and hustling across the room so quickly that Bill hardly registered the fact that he'd been sent reeling back flat on his ass until he was on the floor, blinking dumbly up at Tom.

"Where are you going?" Bill cried out, still hard and now aching clear through.

"I shouldn't...I can't do that do you," Tom said hurriedly, wrenching the door open and stumbling over his open pants before hauling everything up and disappearing down the hall.

Bill stared after him, too bewildered to follow. They felt the same, didn't they? Tom being hard, Tom _letting_ him suck him off...that was proof that they needed the same things from each other. He brought his knees up to his chest and buried his face against them as two of their dogs trotted into the room, heading for him with soft inquisitive whines.

"Shit," Bill said at last, bringing up a hand to wipe away the last of the come on his face. He wanted to lick that off, too, but settled for scrubbing it on his jeans, avoiding the prospect of rubbing too near to his sensitive groin.

The dackels pressed in near to his legs and he had to get up, unwilling to let himself accept their comfort when he'd fucked up in such a spectacular, abysmal manner.

Bill threw himself into all of his endeavors, even screwing up everything with the one he loved most.


	3. Chapter 3

Sulking didn't get Bill anywhere, no matter how good he was at it. He excelled at everything to which he applied himself, after all, and pouting was no exception.

The dogs were immune, and glaring at the walls wasn't going to do him any good, no matter how momentarily diverting it was to think of peeling the paint under his very gaze. Tom had fled, not just the room but the grounds of their property, leaving Bill miserable and hard and agape that Tom would do such a thing to him.

After shucking his jeans off, swapping his nice clothes for ratty pajamas, cleaning up some in his bathroom, and making himself coffee, Bill had gone to the entryway to grab his shoulder bag and find his cell phone. No messages from Tom, which was the matter of foremost importance to him.

The prospect of a temper tantrum, flinging the phone against the wall, or texting Tom something to the effect of 'you selfish prick' occurred in quick succession, but Bill did none of those after fuming at his phone, useless to him for not providing the connection he'd most desired.

He ended up sending Tom a quick text, _plz come home, need 2 c u_ and stowed his phone away only to check it seconds later for a response.

With none forthcoming, Bill had to find something to do to kill the time until he got some kind of response, any response from Tom. That he could be rejected, in truth, was a bubbling froth of madness near to the top of his mind.

He set up shop in the kitchen with his laptop and waited for Tom to come home. He kept his phone out, warmed his hands on the sides of the mug, and stared intensely at his phone while pretending to himself that he was making headway on his untouched inbox full of emails.

He waited, chewed at his lip, and waited some more.

The taste of Tom had been sweet as victory to his lips, wonderful as only the fulfillment of his most long-standing desire could be. To have it torn from his grasp in that way was more than a shock. He huddled by the kitchen counter, trying to pretend to himself it hadn't been a slap to his face, the most bruising blow to his ego.

His phone pulsed on the counter and Bill snatched it up, thumbing it on.

"Tom?" he demanded frantically, his voice high and thin with his fright. It had been hours, close to pushing dawn over the horizon. The dogs were piled in a heap in the corner, having surrendered to sleep in favor of crowding forlornly around Bill's ankles.

"No, it's David...Bill, what's going on? Tom's not there?" David's voice sounded tinny and distant in his ear. "I figured the two of you might still be awake, so I called to see if you'd worked everything out."

Bill couldn't contain a miserable sniff.

"You didn't?" David guessed, the hope in his voice deflating.

"I thought we had," Bill's voice quavered. He screwed his face up in a grimace, angry at himself for even starting to break down on the phone with David. No matter how close he was with others, he couldn't share his pain with them. "We had a fight, and he took off."

"All right, calm down..."

"I'm calm!" Bill snapped, bringing an open palm down hard on the kitchen counter. He winced and shook his hand as though that could ease the sting.

"Okay, what can we do?" David turned it back on him.

"I've already texted, called; he's not picking up," Bill replied, pressing his lips together to prevent another mournful sound from leaving him. He and Tom had ignored each other before – their all time record had been an entire summer – but this was entirely different. He'd had the most intimate part of Tom on his lips, on his tongue, and Tom had run away from that.

"How long has he been gone?" David wanted to know.

Bill shook his head, forgetting that David wouldn't see it. "Hours. He's gone."

"He's not gone--"

"What if something happened?" Bill said shrilly. "What if he got into an accident, what if his car is a flaming wreck on the highway, what if he got drunk and pulled over by American cops, what if someone mugged him and left him for dead--"

"Bill. _Bill._ "

Bill stopped on a gasp of breath, wiping unseen at one eye. "Yes."

"He's a good driver," David said. "He's not stupid enough to go to a club without a bodyguard--"

"Gustav wasn't," Bill said sulkily, rubbing at his eye. His index finger came away smeared black and Bill realized he really ought to have washed his makeup off by now, coming up on twelve hours after he'd applied it.

"He's fine, he'll be home when he's cooled off. You should go to bed," David counseled.

"I want you to call the cops, have them find him," Bill said.

"That's not...er, you can't...we can't file that kind of report yet," David said at last.

"I know you can report missing persons!" Bill said, sitting bolt upright on his stool. "Have them find Tom!"

"Bill, you can't have the police search for someone until they've been missing for over twenty-four hours."

"Oh." Bill's shoulders slumped. He gripped the phone tightly and clenched his teeth against a reflexive response of _what good are you to me, then?_ Most of the time he was more than aware of all that David had done for them, over the years; all that he continued to do, and the ways in which he supported them. "I'd better get off the line. He might call."

"Right," David said, quiet enough that Bill wanted to sneer at his sympathy. "He'll come home, Bill."

Bill pushed off from his kitchen stool with wobbly legs. "Fine. Yes. I hear you."

"Then you should listen," David advised. "I'm sure it was upsetting, Bill. I know it's upsetting to you every time that you fight like this. But he'll come back, and you'll work through it and find your common ground. You always do."

Bill stared hopelessly across the empty room. It was useless to tell David that this time was different.

"Thanks," he said, toneless. "I'll just...go wait, then."

"Get some sleep," David said.

They hung up, and Bill checked his phone again for notifications, wedging his narrow butt onto the stool again.

"Tom, quit being an asshole," Bill told the uncaring device. He texted his brother again, _come home im worried_ , erased the 'worried' and replaced it with 'pissed,' thought better of that and changed it to 'scared.' He wanted something that would bring his twin home, not drive him to stay away for an even greater period of time.

He was all of those things, but above all he wanted Tom home.

Bill sat there staring at his phone and willing it to give him what he needed, until before he quite realized, his eyes were drooping. He watched the phone as though it were the lulling eye of a hypnotist's charm as his head got lower and lower.

Something was buzzing close to his face.

"Mrrph," Bill said against the granite surface of the counter. "Whozzat!?" He peeled his face off the counter, slitting his eyes against the horror of bright light washing over him. He'd fallen asleep...with a groan, Bill rubbed at his grainy, sticky eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings.

His phone was vibrating its way across the counter and he slapped at it.

"Tom!?" he said frantically, before he'd even thumbed it on. He peered with sleep-crusted eyes at the phone and turned it on, bringing it up. "Tom? Are you there?"

"I'm here," the familiar voice said in his ear, tired and more beaten-down than Bill could remember hearing in a long time. Considering his Tom wasn't an optimist to begin with, that was an extensive landscape of lows to pick past.

"Tom, I've been so scared," Bill babbled, clutching the phone against him and switching it to speaker. "You've been gone and it was right after we...and you won't pick up the phone and you won't answer my texts and I've been up all night and where the _fuck_ are you!?"

There was a tense pause. "Yeah...about that," Tom said, sounding as though he were speaking through his teeth.

Bill's heart took off at a thundering gallop. If Tom was leaving him, he was going to threaten to kill himself. No, he really would go through with it. Tom wasn't so heartless as to do that to both of them.

"...I ran out of gas," Tom concluded.

Bill blinked down at the phone in his hand. He began to laugh, concluding in a hysterical hiccup when a testy noise issued from his phone.

"Are you asking me to come get you?" Bill said, pawing at his face with his free hand. He'd washed up, some; enough to get the come off his face after stumbling to his bathroom in the wake of his shattered post-facial distress. He still felt gross, though, after falling asleep at the counter and staying awake later than his usual, still adjusting to living in a time zone halfway across the world.

Tom was mumbling something into the phone that sounded vague and resentful.

"No, Tom, I need you to come out and say it," Bill said sharply. "Because apparently, action and the expression of intent aren't enough when it's you. I need to _know._ " He stopped, becoming aware he was breathing faster, spots of heat rising into his face.

Silence greeted his demand. Bill checked his phone. Once he was assured it was still connected to Tom's, he set it on the counter and spun it around, speaker-side up.

"I need you," Tom said, a tinny sigh hissing through the speaker. "Come and get me, okay? If you can figure out how to use the GPS on your phone."

Bill pursed his lips in disapproval at the phone. "I ought to make you sleep in your car," he said in annoyance. "So that I can take a shower and get some food..."

"Do that, it's fine," Tom said. "I made you wait."

Bill stopped his phone in its lazy revolutions with a single finger. "No, I'm on my way," he said. He hesitated. "I pushed it. I chased you away."

"Let's not talk about it over the phone," Tom said.

"Yeah," Bill said softly, bowing his head. _Let's not talk about it,_ he heard instead. So there was something they'd seal back into the vault of what remained unsaid.

"Do you have something to write this down? I passed a mile marker along this highway..."

Bill grabbed at his laptop to raise the lid. "Hold on."

* * *

The sun was blazing a track up the sky by the time Bill pulled his car to an idling stop behind Tom's Audi R8. He squared his shoulders, keeping his hands on the wheel. Tom was still in his clothes from the night before as he slammed the door on his way out of the car and squinted down the shoulder toward Bill's car.

A roil of emotions coursed through Bill as Tom trudged along the shoulder toward his car. He kept his eyes on Tom almost defiantly. He was angry, but the feeling was quickly replaced by a wave of queasiness. Tom had admitted to...to what he'd admitted, but Bill was the one who'd taken it further. He was the one who'd knelt between his brother's thighs and sucked him off until Tom had had no choice but to come on his face. Loneliness replaced it; a sweeping sense of desolation. Tom had _left_ , and after what had happened, he'd never want to be alone with Bill again.

"Thanks," Tom muttered as he cracked the passenger door open and slid inside, grabbing the seatbelt to strap himself in.

Bill shrugged. What else was he supposed to do? "We don't have gas cans," he said by way of explanation. They would have to come for Tom's car later, or risk having it towed.

"Yeah," Tom said, and his fingers twiddled away at his knee.

Bill contained a sigh and fixed his attention forward, over his wheel, as he pulled out onto the highway once more. Tom had gotten himself stranded on a stretch of highway hours from their house – but not as far as the length of time during which Bill had waited, agonized, for some sign of life from his twin. That meant Tom had waited a few more hours before calling him.

"No reception?" Bill said, trying not to sound waspish but he was scared, given the fact that he'd texted Tom hours before. He was also relieved to the point of tears. He had to do _something_ to disguise that horrid insecurity.

Tom grunted something beside him.

"What?" Bill prompted, a little louder than necessary.

"Was thinking," Tom mumbled, somewhat louder.

Bill snorted before he could censor the impulse. "No wonder it took so long." He bit his lip and glanced over, only to find Tom's eyes already on him, opaque and unreadable.

There was silence in the car for the rest of the long ride home. Tom took his phone out a few times and fiddled with it each time, but didn't pick up any calls.

Bill kept his eyes on the road after that.

Back home, the dogs greeted them as though they'd been gone for days instead of hours. Bill followed his twin through the door that adjoined the garage into their house, his arms folded tightly over his front. He trailed after Tom, forlorn as one of their pups unattended, part of him still expecting them to talk later, as Tom had promised.

"Tomi..." Bill began, breaking the silence at last as they reached the hallway that led to their bedrooms.

Tom turned his head to the side, enough for Bill to see him in profile but not to catch any meaningful nuance of expression.

"I'm going to shower," Tom said quietly.

"Okay," Bill said, deflating at everything that remained unsaid. He nodded – to himself, as Tom resumed his shuffle up the hallway. Of course Tom wanted a shower; he'd gotten a blowjob, then bolted.

He kept his head down and sought out his own room, dropping his bag to one side without even a wince for the heavy clunk when it hit the floor. He tossed his phone at his dresser, kicked his shoes in two different directions, and threw himself at the bed with violent abandon. Springs creaked warning and he mashed his face into a pillow, giving vent to a muffled scream that expressed a fraction of his pressurized frustration.

In the distance, the sound of running water started up.

Bill peeled himself from the bedspread, grimacing at the smudge of black eye makeup he'd left on the pillow. He hadn't gone all-out when he'd put on his face for the dinner at David's the night before, so it wasn't the most expensive stuff with everything that kept it adhered to his skin come hell or high priced makeup remover pad. Tom was freshening up, and would probably crash afterward. Bill might as well attend to his own hygiene and crash before it got too much brighter. He was pretty sure his circadian rhythm was already completely skewed.

He got up from the bed, padding over to his own bathroom. For two young men as conscious of social grooming as they were, two en-suite bathrooms had been an absolute requirement when they had been house-shopping. He swiped away his makeup with cleanser pads, splashed his face with water, and avoided the gaze of his own reflection as he brushed his teeth. Paying attention to all of the mundane details was no distraction.

His mind was full of Tom, and Tom wanted none of it.

Bill kept whip-sawing between _he wanted it, he must have wanted it,_ and a self-loathing sort of _he hates me, I forced him into it._

He finished up his bathroom routine and pulled on an old comfort shirt, a tight black tee with no lettering, no designs, and he grabbed a pair of clinging black briefs from his underwear drawer to match.

His little diva dackel circled around him as he stood beside his bed for a moment. He contemplated the litany of activities that remained in order for him to take a nap. Shutter the blinds, hunt up his sleeping mask, pull back the unbearable weight of the bedding. He flinched as his dackel nosed at his ankle before giving it a tentative lick. Usually he slept on his bed with all of his dogs, but for the first time in he-couldn't-remember, he wanted to sleep alone.

"Go find Tom," Bill told her, pointing at the door.

She lifted her head and gave him a bright-eyed, hopeful wag.

Bill sighed and pointed again. "There's food," he said glumly. There was nothing else that might tempt her besides going all the way to the kitchen and scattering treats, and that seemed an insurmountable distance at the moment.

The dackel trotted happily out of the room, hearing 'food' and not thinking to question it any further.

Bill blew out a heavy sigh, sinking onto the edge of his bed. He set his head in his hands.

He hazed out a moment, rousing at the light touch of knuckles to the side of his open door. He squinted over at Tom, who was on his doorstep in a towel and nothing else.

"Um," Bill began. His voice caught and he cleared his throat. Tom looked good, his well-defined abs and the striking stand-out of his pectoral muscles limned in the light and what appeared to be a few beads of moisture.

Tom shooed the dogs out and stepped into Bill's bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

"You fought this for a long time," Tom said, not asking but telling Bill as he approached the bed.

Bill looked up at him, weary. He was ready to lay down arms so long as they could declare some kind of truce.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"You should have known," Tom told him, sitting down beside him on the bed. His towel split around one muscular thigh and Bill tried to look away. His head came up, startled, as Tom took one of his hands and laced their fingers together. "You never had to do this alone."

Bill's eyes welled up and he jerked his head away sharply.

Tom reached up with his free hand to tug at Bill's jaw, drawing him gently but inexorably to face him.

"Don't," Tom told him, his voice low and intense. "You keep looking away. You're going to make me think you don't mean it."

"You're _straight_ ," Bill shot back, his eyes smarting fierce enough to make him want to blink.

Tom's fingers wouldn't let go of his jaw; it baffled Bill. He was sure Tom had to be giving him mixed signals as a thumb began to move slowly over the mole beneath his lip.

"And I love you," Tom said, his eyes unflinching. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "We don't say it often. We don't need to. But you need to hear it now. I love you – all of you, every part."

Bill blinked at him. He had to be misunderstanding in some way. "But, as a brother..."

Tom's brow quirked in a small but heated expression. "Let me show you," he said, cupping the hinge of Bill's jaw and drawing him in.

Bill's skin prickled with anticipation he'd never experienced before with any of his lovers, short as that list had been. There had been apprehension, vague unease, even the buried conviction that it was wrong, but now he realized it wasn't over being gay. It had been the wrong person each time. His eyes slid shut as the radiant warmth of Tom's skin approached his.

Their lips met slow and soft as a whisper's caress.

Bill made a quietly greedy noise in his throat as Tom pressed in, slanting his mouth down hard over Bill's. He'd had many first kisses; Tom's girl, the day after his twin's first kiss. Stealing it back from her hadn't worked out so well for him. He'd kissed his own first girlfriend, his first lover, his first man. He could return all of those kisses back again in favor of this moment, which was more powerful and intense to him than any kiss that had come before. The short hairs on his neck were prickling; Bill _felt_ every part of himself, aware of everything from his toes digging into the carpet to the gentle puff of Tom's breath against his upper lip.

He opened to Tom's direction as his twin's firm mouth moved against his, molding Bill's lips beneath his, kissing firmly over his bottom lip and shaping urgent, open-mouthed kisses between them.

"Ahh," the sound left Bill; he was wanting more, but Tom was already of the same mind.

Their mouths never separated for as long as a second. Tom kissed harder, nipping at his bottom lip until Bill gasped against him, his entire middle sparking hot with the need for more. He sent his tongue out, questing for its mate, so anxious to deepen the connection he didn't even think about who was guiding the kiss.

Tom growled into his mouth, shifting his hold from stroking at the curve of Bill's jaw to grip the base of his neck, long fingers digging in over the skin where his tattoo was blazoned. He speared his tongue into Bill's mouth, holding him close as their tongues met and tangled.

Bill crowded in close against Tom's front, setting a hand to the muscle definition of Tom's exposed chest. Tom had come to him in just a _towel_ , and the kissing alone was so hot Bill thought he could come against Tom's leg right then and there. Every negative emotion, fear chasing anger over the rejection he'd gotten, was eclipsed in the overriding need to be closer than close to Tom; to accept his offer for Tom to _show_ him how he loved him. He yielded to Tom's aggressive kiss, his muffled eager noise crushed between their tongues.

Tom kissed him hungrily and Bill played his hands over smooth, hard muscle, stroking up from his abs to cup the curves of his pectorals. He thumbed at Tom's nipples. Tom's tongue drew back and wet lips pressed over Bill's, crushing them open beneath his. He captured Bill's bottom lip in his and tugged, ever so gentle, the possessive gesture sparking heat anew at the base of Bill's belly.

"Want you," Tom said when their mouths parted at last. His voice scraped out low and hoarse.

Giddy, Bill was nodding before Tom even finished. "Have me," he invited. It was only what he'd been wanting for years.

Tom reached up to cup his face between both hands again before leaning in to take his mouth. He was gentle about it this time, licking over the kiss-swollen line of Bill's lower lip before sealing their mouths together. They kissed as though it was all they wanted, total focus of their hesitant admissions, and it became the desired outcome of their joining rather than only the beginning. Tom stroked from his cheeks down to his neck and caressed his thumbs along Bill's collarbone until he'd nibbled Bill's mouth open, teasing him with a series of open-mouthed kisses, before finally slipping him the tongue again.

Bill loosed a moan low in his throat, trying to climb into Tom's lap as Tom's tongue entered his mouth. To him, being penetrated with Tom's tongue, only that much, was more erotic than any of the sex he'd had.

Tom cupped his neck in both hands, strong thumbs massaging around the base in soft encouragement. He laid Bill back on his bed, tongue flickering over his own full, reddened lips, and looked down on him with eyes dilated huge with arousal.

With a silent nod, Bill bit his lip, reaching up to get a handful of braids and pull Tom down to him. They kissed again, wet and messy and everything Bill wanted. With an urgent noise Bill pressed up against him, trying to hook a leg over Tom's, wanting everything _now_ and _more_ until they both lay there panting.

Tom dipped a hand into Bill's briefs and his breath hitched. The kiss didn't stop, though; Tom's tongue kept plunging between his lips again to seek out every part of his mouth even as a strong hand gripped the head of his cock and began to jerk him off.

"Yes...ah...yes, yes," Bill moaned his pleasure, arching where he lay and clawing at Tom's bare shoulders, trying to pull his twin's weight atop him. He wanted everything, all of it. He wanted Tom's weight pushing him into the bed, making him feel good with the the pressure, the dominance of his presence. He wanted the touches, both rough and gentle, to every part of him. Those same intimate touches were the ones he'd found pleasurable but somehow uncomfortable at the same time, before now. He wanted touch and taste and most especially, the lovely skewering flare of pleasure as Tom opened him up and joined their bodies in the best way. He began to trail a hand down Tom's sculpted chest, intending to pull aside the towel and get a hand on Tom's cock as Tom was doing so well for him, with rhythmic brilliant tugs.

He found himself pinioned, as Tom had gotten a leg over him and held him down with weight on Bill's thigh and hip.

"Oh...oh!" Bill exclaimed, bucking up against Tom's grip as the rapid pulls on his cock increased to the pace he liked best, as though Tom could read the pleasure cues from his body and adjust his pace to suit. He was feverish, too turned on as he tried to squirm under Tom and opened his mouth to Tom's seeking tongue, caressing over the velvety-smooth flesh over hard muscle he'd never been allowed to explore.

"Relax," Tom said into his ear, and ran his tongue over and around the outside shell.

Bill cried out and his hips stuttered up against the steady draw of Tom's hand. It was good, too good. He rocked his hips up in tiny, frantic counterpoint motions to the pull of Tom's hand. He was going to come if Tom kept doing that; and tried to tell him, in a frantic babble, only to have Tom shush him and cover his mouth with another heavy kiss again. Tom's tongue probed into his mouth with slow but firm insistence, a stark contrast to the fast pace of his pumping hand.

Going rigid, Bill scrabbled for a hold on Tom's back as he began to come in quick, heated spurts. It almost took him by surprise, though he'd felt the undeniable sensation drawing his balls tight, and his very being along with it. He tried to hide his face, nipping Tom's neck with his lips but no teeth, but Tom stroked at his hair with his other hand until Bill lolled his head back against the pillow. He shuddered in Tom's hold and got his arms around Tom's neck, overwhelmed and exhausted and kissing back with as much fervor as he could muster.

When their lips parted moistly, Tom settled to one side of him on his elbow. His eyes were nearly black and an aura of expectation hovered in the quizzical pucker of his brow. His hand stirred through the warm come painting Bill's stomach.

"You jerk," Bill said, panting. He smacked the nearest bare pectoral. "I _came_."

Tom widened his eyes at him. "That was the point."

"I wanted to come together," Bill complained, reaching down for where Tom was swirling a finger over his come-covered belly.

"Oh. Well, you were too wound up," Tom said, sounding unrepentant. "Besides, I owed you one."

Bill glanced at his twin sidelong, mischief bubbling up together with an unexpected euphoria. He was wrecked and debauched and could spend about two days in bed, but he felt free – new – reborn again. "So there'll be a round two?"

Tom twitched his nose before leaning down to dot a kiss on Bill's. "Yeah, if you want to shower?"

Bill wriggled, pushing his belly up against Tom's petting fingers, immeasurably pleased with Tom's possessive hold on him. "Shower?" he repeated, curious, and rolled to hide his face against Tom's shoulder as comprehension surfaced. Full-on sex, Tom's words implied.

"Not if you don't want to..." Tom began, clearly worried Bill would object to continued ravishment. "I mean, I understand if you're too tired."

Bill pushed himself up onto his elbow, pressing his lips to Tom's shoulder. He already felt more comfortable with Tom than any of his lovers, and didn't wonder why in the least. "I want to," he said, and made a little face, pushing his lips out in a brief, understated moue. "You've made me wait forever. I don't want to wait any longer."

" _I've_ made you wait--" Tom began, outrage lurking in his tone, and Bill laughed and got up from the bed, smacking his twin's bare chest in passing. He paused on the threshold of his bathroom to cast a last desirous glance at the best thing to ever grace his bed, in either of the continents he'd lived on.

When Bill climbed into the shower he'd meant to give himself a quick scrub-down and get back to Tom as fast as possible. The most cursory attendance to hygiene turned into a thorough, decadent sort of soaping, using his exfoliating gloves and back brush and everything in his arsenal to scrub down to a healthy glow. He attended to every part of himself twice, performing some on the spot shaving as well. It was so relaxing he could have fallen asleep on the tiled shower bench that took up one side of his shower. With the lure of Tom waiting, though, he scrambled to finish as the weight of desire drew his belly tight and heavy once more.

He was ready to go again.

Bill toweled off and hurried back to the bedroom, one towel around his hips, finishing off his hair with another.

He stopped on the verge of the bathroom, open-mouthed at what lay waiting in his bed for him.

Tom was on his back, the towel tugged aside to reveal everything, from his bare chest to the slightest wisping trail that led down to his groin. His cock was hard and red on his belly, flashing Bill back to the moment he'd walked in on Tom jerking off, some months ago.

He wondered now what would have happened if he'd taken Tom up on his invitation to join him in his room. If he'd tugged down that sheet back then, he could have saved them months of back-biting and veiled sexual aggression.

Bill grinned proudly down at Tom. They could enjoy each other _now_ ; that was the important thing.

"Come here," Tom told him, one hand behind his head, the other pulling at his cock. His thumb eased over the tip, making little circles in the slit.

Bill was all but salivating. He wanted his mouth on that. It was no secret he had a bit of an oral fixation; he'd found that he didn't just enjoy giving head, he _loved_ it. He could spend way longer sucking cock than anyone he'd been with was able to endure. He was looking forward to trying it out on Tom and seeing how he fared against his previous bases for comparison. He walked forward, pausing for a moment on the verge of climbing onto the bed.

Tom reached out and tugged at his towel. "Let me see you," he said, playing his tongue over his lip as he rolled onto one thigh, his cock giving a wet smack to his abdomen.

The sight of it made Bill's knees weak; he let Tom unravel his towel, so fixated on the sight of Tom's cock he had no attention to focus on any kind of resistance.

"On the bed," Tom told him, stroking over Bill's hip before touching his cock again, smoothing over the jutting-hard length of it. "You're gonna get it."

"Yeah?" Bill breathed, putting a knee on the bed. He pursed his lips in consideration. "On what grounds?"

"Making _me_ wait so long," Tom said, reaching up to seize Bill's elbow and topple him to the bed.

Bill squeaked as he was pulled down, interposing his own thigh to control his fall and avoid squishing his manly bits. Tom laughed at him and pulled him atop his own bare body. All of that naked skin rubbing and touching made Bill's eyes roll up a little from the sheer pleasure of it. He arched his back and snuggled their groins together, their hard cocks lining up as they pressed between their bellies.

"Want to suck your cock," Bill murmured, nudging their noses together as though telling Tom a secret, as they had when they were younger. This secret was a great deal more adult in nature.

"Later," Tom said, palming Bill's ass with one hand.

Bill raised a brow. "You're telling me what to do?" he challenged.

He found himself flipped onto his back so fast, he barely had time to register the shift in position. One moment he was performing a slow grind atop Tom's naked front, dwelling in the sensual feast of each part of their new connection. The next instant, he blinked up at Tom's darkly mischievous face.

"I am telling you what to do," Tom informed him. He dragged his hips over Bill's, pressing the heat of his hard cock against Bill's belly. "I'm gonna be fucking you, But first..."

"Oh," Bill said. A surprised flush was painting stripes of heat up his collarbones and spreading clear through his face. He'd had men try to dominate him in bed, before. He'd never _let_ them.

Tom, though...

"Gonna make you feel good," Tom continued, getting up over Bill and parting his thighs with a forceful knee.

"Oh fuck, you can do whatever you want to me," Bill breathed, giving himself over to Tom's raw sexuality. Bill had experimented more with guys, it was true, but Tom had way more notches on his belt and the added bonus that Bill was sure Tom would know better how to please him than anyone with whom he'd been before.

"Good," Tom approved, bending his head to give Bill a kiss for reward. It was slow at first, their lips enjoying a leisurely press before Tom's tongue licked into his mouth again. Bill was panting and pushing up when his twin pulled away, and he whined for more.

"More," Bill said explicitly, reaching up to tug at a braid.

Tom grabbed at his hand and pinned it over Bill's head, giving him a look that implied disapproval. "I could kiss you all day, but then we'll never get everything we want, will we?"

"Mm," Bill mumbled, seeing the point but sulky to admit it when he was being denied kisses.

"I want you on your hands and knees," Tom said, his eyes solemn, determined in a way.

"Okay," Bill said, and tried to push his hips up again. Tom's weight was on him. "Let me up?"

Tom's brows peaked up, but he sat back on his heels. He stroked both of his hands down Bill's naked thighs. "Turn around," he ordered.

Bill skewed his mouth, but raised his hips up with a challenging flash of his eyes. He turned, stretching like a cat, arching his spine and pushing his bottom up and out.

Hands grabbed his ass, spreading him.

"Oh God," Bill said, startled but still unbearably aroused. He wasn't frightened; he trusted Tom the way he trusted no lover, no other person he'd ever been with. There was a breath of unease within him for the vulnerability of his position, but it was _Tom_.

"Try to hold still," Tom told him, and dabbled his tongue at the tipping point of Bill's spine, the last knob before the crack of Bill's ass began.

The muscles of Bill's thighs jumped and his eyes slammed open wide. That was odd, definitely the dirtiest kind of kiss he'd ever gotten, and... "What the fuck are you doing!?" Bill yelped, as Tom's tongue kept going, plunging down into the crevice of his ass. He crowded toward the headboard of his bed, coming close to slamming his head and gripping handfuls of sheet as he tried to get away.

"Oh, no," Tom muttered against his ass, looping both arms around Bill's thighs and locking him into place. He buried his face in Bill's ass and spoke directly against his hole. "You're not going anywhere, you're taking everything I give you."

"Nnn...no!" Bill cried out, still attempting to struggle and get away.

Tom shook his head in small but decisive gestures, rubbing his face into the cleft of Bill's ass and dragging his nose and lips around in ways that made Bill feel distinctly weird.

"You can't; stop, Tom, you...you can't," Bill protested, his voice coming out high and breathy.

"You're clean," Tom said, his hot breath dampening Bill's cleft. "You're so clean, you smell so good, just let me."

"Nnn..." Bill tried to deny him again, but his hips were inclining back to push his ass out without his conscious direction. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to inch away again, but Tom's arms had him in a solid hold and his face was right _in_ Bill's ass. His tongue snaked out, licking down into every part around Bill's hole, making Bill whimper. It was almost ticklish. His balls were drawing up tight so fast it rocked him between pleasure, wanting to beg for more, and the opposite – too much, over-stimulation, demanding that Tom stop.

Tom closed his lips around Bill's hole and began to give it wet, sloppy kisses.

Bill collapsed on his arms, keening and shaking, glad now for Tom's strong hold on him. "Just let me, let me," he thought he heard Tom say, before Tom buried his face in Bill's ass again and began to eat him out like it was his only goal in life.

"Tom, Tommm," Bill cried, pressing his face against the nearest pillow and biting his lips to stifle useless sobs. He was completely overwhelmed. Tom was frenching his hole, prying his stiffened tongue into the clenched ring of muscle and breaching him with only that, and Bill was helpless to do anything but lie there and take it. "Fuck fuck fuck..."

Tom smacked his mouth wetly against Bill's ass before pulling his face away. "Soon," he promised.

"Now, God, please, now...I'm going to lose it, I need you in me..."

"You're not ready," Tom said, and nuzzled down between the cheeks of Bill's ass again.

"I'm so ready!" Bill insisted, trying to flex his hips against Tom's iron hold. "Fuck, ahhh, fuck me..."

There was a second of hesitation behind him, and Tom kissed one of his buttocks. "Don't move, okay? If you pull away when I let go, I'm going to spank you."

Bill widened his eyes at the nearest pillow. "Later, okay?" he proposed, intrigued at the thought. The prospect of Tom punishing him for being 'naughty' sent a jolt straight to his dick.

Tom must have noticed. "Oh my God, that turns you on."

"Maybe...later...just...nnng, get _on_ with it, Tom!" Bill urged, striving for a demanding tone as opposed to begging.

Another fluttering kiss was pressed to his hole and Bill moaned, letting himself give vent at last to how much he really enjoyed it. He was clean, as Tom had mentioned. No one had ever done that for him before – they'd let him suck cock to his heart's content, and a few had been extremely interested in getting _in_ his ass.

Tom was his first lover to attend to Bill's needs ahead of his own.

"Lover," Bill murmured aloud, liking the sound of that.

"Hmm?" Tom hummed against his ass, releasing his legs and stroking over the long muscles in his thighs as though apologizing with his hands.

"Be my lover," Bill said, his eyelashes sweeping downward as he braced himself for an answer.

"However long you'll have me," Tom replied, stroking up against the underside of Bill's ass. His long fingers petted over the sensitive strip of perineum, making Bill squirm and push his rear out again.

"Oh," Bill said, breath catching. _That's perfect,_ he thought, _because that's forever_ , but didn't say it, focused as he was on the sensation of Tom's calloused fingers exploring his ass.

The tip of a finger began to sink into him and Bill bit at his lips again, rotating his hips to encourage Tom. He wanted Tom to caress him on the inside as sensitively and sensually as he'd devoted his attentions to every other part of him.

"I need lube," Tom said, and the finger retracted before it had gone very far, making Bill keen and try to crowd back against Tom.

"Unh...Tom, put it in; just put it in," Bill urged mindlessly.

"Not without lube," Tom said, his voice containing what Bill recognized as barely restrained amusement. A hand patted his ass, not quite smacking but more than a firm caress.

Bill yelped anyhow, turning a glance of smoldering irritation over his shoulder.

"Where's your lube?" Tom asked him, tonguing his lip with a playful sort of look as their eyes met.

"You're assuming I have some," Bill said archly.

Tom cocked his head to the side, a 'come on' expression quirking his lips and brow.

"Top row of the dresser, on the right, in one of the black glitter socks," Bill said, biting his lip and lowering his head.

Tom chuckled and pressed a last kiss to the base of his spine. "You really are gay," he said fondly.

"Hey! I am andro—nnnh..." Bill trailed off as Tom spread his ass with both hands and licked down into it one more time. He was left dazed and awash in a state of sexual readiness he'd never approached before as Tom climbed off the bed, patting Bill's ass again.

"You're fabulous," Tom told him without a trace of sarcasm.

Bill allowed himself to crumple forward, mindful of his staggeringly hard, sensitive dick. He ended up partly on his side to look over his shoulder as he tracked Tom's progress through his bedroom. He let his eyes dwell up and down Tom's leanly muscled naked body. He ended up grinning like a fool, and Tom turned when he reached the dresser and caught him looking.

At that point Bill was used to one or the other of them making a stupid joke, breaking the tension and easing off. This time, Tom met his eyes with a smoldering stare of his own, reaching down to grip his cock where it had been bobbing mid-air, compass to Tom's eagerness for what came next.

Bill had to look down first, facing down the heat in Tom's eyes and scared he was going to come up lacking.

Tom rummaged through the drawer and returned to the bed with the lube, flipping the cap open with his thumb on the way and already drizzling some onto the fingers of his right hand as he returned to bed. He put a knee down on the bed, stroking his left hand down Bill's naked side.

Bill glanced up at him, feeling shy all over again, his bare bits figleafed with a raised knee.

Tom's mouth worked a moment, and his hand continued to caress over Bill's side. "I'm clean," he said at last.

"Me too," Bill said, his lips curving. His latest test had been recent enough after the first that he could say it for certain.

Tom's face lit up, echoing Bill's response to that welcome relief. He didn't want anything between them.

"Don't make me wait," Bill murmured, stretching out a hand.

Tom didn't. With alacrity, he joined Bill on the bed, slicking up his fingers and settling behind Bill as he stroked into his cleft again, spreading him with one hand. His thumb caressed along the inside of Bill's ass as he began to open him up with one finger, then two.

"Yes," the urging left Bill in a broken whimper. He was so relaxed and ready. He wanted this so much. He rocked against the sheets, gasping when Tom reached between his legs and squeezed his cock.

"Fuck, you're so ready," Tom said hoarsely, echoing his thoughts.

"I am, I need it," Bill agreed, stretching his arms out in front of him and bracing himself against the headboard. "C'mon, Tom, I'm not a virgin; you're not going to hurt me."

"I hate that," Tom said, dropping the bottle of lube and wiping a hand on the sheets, gripping at Bill's legs.

"Wha--?" Bill looked over one shoulder, then the other, trying to get a good view of Tom. He didn't quite get the weird tone, or why Tom had suddenly stopped prep.

"I waited," Tom said, bending over Bill's back and laying his cheek against Bill's spine. "I fucking missed my chance, Bill."

"Don't...this isn't about that," Bill said, trying to reach back to comfort Tom. Their hands caught and squeezed together. "This is us, you and me. It's going to be way better than anything that came before."

"Yeah," Tom said, and pressed butterfly kisses to his spine. "Yeah. I'm just...I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Bill said, and squeezed his hand again. "You're not exactly a pencil dick, Kaulitz. Maybe I needed to work up to this; to you, first, did you think of that?"

"Still want you to be all mine," Tom whispered against his skin like a confession.

"Always," Bill promised. "And from now on."

Tom trailed his kisses down to the top of Bill's rear again before sneaking a finger into his ass.

"Fuck...now can we stop talking about it long enough for you to _get in me_?" Bill gritted, bracing himself up on his elbows. That finger was giving him more than a taste for the rest.

Tom laughed, smacked his ass, and squelched out lube from the bottle directly into Bill's crack.

Bill squealed, about to demand what Tom was doing to his ass when he felt it. A smooth bluntness was poised above his balls, nudging at his hole with a heat unlike anything else. Bill squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, his breath coming in quick eager pants; he was looking forward to _feeling_ Tom inside him the way he'd never let another lover enter him. This really was theirs alone.

"I've got you," Tom said, so quiet it was only the greater silence around them that allowed Bill to hear it. His thumbs stroked Bill's hips as he fitted his hands around him, snuggling his cock down into the crease. Tom gave him a few slow thrusts, doing nothing more than rubbing his hard dick into Bill's crease and smearing lube everywhere before pressing it against Bill's hole again.

Bill's breath sped up even more for a few heartbeats before it slowed into a kind of calm recognition. This moment was everything shaped by years of tension between them. He loosed a soft noise of acknowledgment, sparing a second of longing for not being able to see Tom's face before focusing on the way Tom was stroking his hips as he began to push inside of him.

He forgot to breathe as Tom's cock moved into him, opening him up wider than he'd been stretched in a while.

Bill leaned heavily on his arms, so concentrated on each sensation from the sting of his teeth on his lip to the way Tom's hands had shifted from caress to gripping his hips, but most especially the languorous burn of entry. Tom was big enough that Bill had to shift, turning his face against the pillow to muffle small noises as the head slid in and he focused on that to the exclusion of everything. There was a star of pleasure unfolding at the core of him as Tom's cock entered him fully.

"Okay?" Tom asked him, thumbs resuming their stroking at Bill's hips as they pressed together completely.

"Mmmf," Bill expressed his mingled pleasure and discomfort. He had to lift up his face from the pillow, holding himself braced as he considered how it felt - _full_ , mostly, with an aching sense of completion.

"Wanna move," Tom said, already beginning to pulse against Bill's ass, pushing his embedded cock deeper.

Bill groaned, holding himself up against that welcome intrusion. " _Move_ ," he snarled, knowing it would hurt at first, the stretch and burn of it, but eager for the greater pleasure that would rise up soon enough to overcome it.

Tom said nothing to that, only began to work his cock in and out in a slow, lubricated glide that made Bill's back arch as he tried to find the best angle for penetration. The cock inside him was big enough that it was awkward, at first, and Bill had to adjust and spread his thighs a bit more underneath Tom's weight. He ended up on his elbows with his back angled in a way that would kink him up later, but Tom was giving him dragging thrusts from base to tip right into the core of him and Bill began to moan with each inward plunge, loving it.

"Feels good," Bill managed. Sweat was dampening his brow, beginning to collect and shimmer along his body.

"I'll make it even better," Tom responded, crowding even closer behind him and shifting his hands to Bill's waist. He sped up, doling out faster thrusts directly into Bill's pleasure centers, or so it seemed; Bill cried out and tried to raise his ass higher, riveted by the sensations coursing through and consuming him.

_Love this_ , Bill wanted to tell him, pushing back against Tom with each rapid pump of his twin's hips. Scintillating pleasure was building up in his belly, fueled by the pendulum motion of Tom's cock inside of him. He'd never had sex before now, the odd thought surfaced within him; none of it had been like this, a soaring pleasure, a simultaneous awareness of everything he was experiencing and a need to make his lover feel the same, if not even better.

Tom's movements slowed, and a hand stroked over his lower back, the heavy caress giving Bill another kind of lazy pleasure.

"How do you want to finish?" Tom asked him, doling out slow, deep thrusts that made Bill want to cry out and shake and come all over his sheets. He was close, so close, even though it seemed they'd barely begun.

It was so much more intense without a condom, Bill realized. He was glad he'd never done _that_ with anyone but Tom. It all seemed fitting, looking back on it; his own dissatisfaction and inability to commit to a long-term lover serving him now in his desire to commit to the one person he never thought he could have.

He craned a look over his shoulder, dipping his mouth in a grin that settled oddly shy on his face, considering all they were doing together. "Want to see you...want to kiss you," he replied.

"Nnng...yes," was Tom's instant response.

Bill bit his lips against a cry as Tom gave him another thrust before drawing out, leaving him wanting. He began to turn over, ungainly in his rapt absorption with everything to do with Tom's cock, and found himself flipped over by strong, impatient hands. It was a move that would have made him hiss with displeasure and draw away if anyone but Tom had enacted it on him. Instead he lay back, his legs trembling with eagerness as Tom guided them up over his shoulders, positioning himself between Bill's spread thighs.

"Better?" Tom asked, looking down on him with the tenderness he showed Bill in rare moments. Unguarded moments, only the two of them.

This was each of them stripped down to their rawest potential.

Bill smiled up at him, reaching for Tom's face. "Perfect, with one more thing," he hinted, tensing his legs to lift his butt up, easy access hopefully.

The trace of a smile crossed Tom's face as he propped himself over Bill in a one-armed push up, reaching between them to line their bodies up. He let his weight sink his cock back into Bill this time, going down by increments until he was balls-deep, and Bill cried out and cursed him and raked trails down Tom's strong arms and back, striving to get closer even when they had reached the ultimate point of closeness.

"You're in me," Bill said in wonder, their faces pressed close together.

"Feels good?" Tom wanted to know.

"Better," Bill replied, and stretched his head back, clenching down as Tom began to move within him again. Each thrust of his cock within Bill was a wave of pleasure, building up until they were moving so fast there was no difference between one thrust and the next. Tom's lips brushed against his every now and again, but they were both concentrating more on the direct connection of their bodies.

"Gonna come," Tom warned him, after a stretch of particularly urgent fucking during which they clutched at each other, their sole anchor in the upswell of pleasure they drew from each other's bodies.

"Oh, God, come in me," Bill urged, clenching down on Tom to encourage his climax. He wanted to be directly responsible.

Tom braced over him again on one arm, stroking at Bill's face with his other hand and slowing to plunge his cock in, base to tip.

"You first," he said, his dark eyes serious, the center of Bill's world for that moment and always.

Bill was little more than a bundle of quivering nerve-ends beneath him as Tom delivered his long, deliberate thrusts. He could feel the entire length of Tom's cock going in and out and that, combined with the intensity of Tom's regard, was too much for him at last. He turned his head to press a kiss to Tom's palm and gave up the fight to his mounting pleasure, reaching one hand down to thumb at the head of his cock and paint Tom's belly with his climax.

Tom lurched over him and thrust rapidly, making Bill moan and twitch as he finished the throes of his own orgasm. In the next moment, though, before that sensation could overload him, Tom was bracketing Bill's arms with his face, kissing him deep and hard as he rested his weight on Bill and pulsed his hips against his ass.

"Oh...oh," Bill groaned, sure he could feel it within him – the unraveling warmth of Tom's come marking him with the only brand of ownership Bill could ever accept. He draped his arms over Tom's neck, already exhausted.

Tom remained there a moment, his hips moving in the weak aftershock of his orgasm. They huddled together, trading kisses that were stark contrast to the biting savagery that had accompanied their earlier urgency. At last Tom began to move, ignoring Bill's wordless plaint, shifting and unkinking his legs from where Bill would happily keep them for hours, if not for his own bodily limits.

A sigh escaped from Bill's lips as Tom shifted him gently, positioning him onto the bed with utmost care.

"One more thing," Tom said, getting up from the bed.

Bill mumbled another protest, making a long arm for Tom, but his twin was already slipping from his reach, going around the corner that led into his en-suite bathroom.

He must have drowsed a bit. His eyes started open as the bed dipped beneath him; in his sleepy state he thought a dog or two was joining him on the bed, until he saw Tom's bare chest and shoulders looming in his field of vision and a sleepy smile curled up his mouth.

Tom handled him with care, sponging off his stomach and lifting one of his legs to clean away the trickle of come he'd left behind. Bill lazed in place and enjoyed it as his due. He settled an arm behind his head and watched Tom with bright eyes.

"Come back here," he said after a moment, reaching up when Tom finished and appeared to hesitate.

Tom tossed him a broadly flirtatious smirk. "What, you don't think it'll get weird?"

"Pretending to be anything but what we are is what got us in trouble," Bill stated. He patted the empty bed beside him. "For you and me, it's only weird if we're not sharing everything. Even this."

Tom nodded, but got up to dispose of the washcloth. Knowing him, he probably rinsed it in the sink and hung it somewhere to dry.

So long as he returned to Bill's side, any other detail was not essential.

They snuggled beneath the sheet together, bare skin to bare skin, and Bill was home at last.

"I guess I won't be updating anyone on the status of my love life any time soon," Bill said with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head before arranging himself comfortably so that he was sharing more of Tom's space than any portion of bed reserved for his own use. "'Single' and resigned to it forever."

"The rest of the world can believe what it wants," Tom asserted, hooking his arm around Bill's shoulders, adjusting to Bill's position as Bill pillowed his head comfortably against Tom's deltoid. "So long as you're mine, no matter what."

No response was needed, but Bill set Tom's palm over his heart anyhow. "With everything I am."


End file.
